


Proper Dose

by tom_hollandaze



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Relationships, iwaoi if you squint, reader is the oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tom_hollandaze/pseuds/tom_hollandaze
Summary: Satomi Murakami was perfectly content with her hectic life. With good grades and being the captain of both of her clubs, she didn't need much else nor did she see any errors with her way of life. Unfortunately, her classmate and new found friend, Hajime Iwaizumi didn't see it that way. Talented, hardworking, and a genius, much to Tooru Oikawa's displeasure, Iwaizumi couldn't understand how such a person could waste themselves away with addiction. He refused to let her addiction bury the person he had come to love so dearly.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Original Female Character(s), Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Original Female Character(s), Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. I'm Alone and I Don't Care

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So I just recently got into Haikyuu and it is really making me miss my high school days. Thank you, nostalgia. This is going to be a very slow story and I did so much more background story than I originally anticipated. There is a lot of terminology that will be explained in further detail in the footnote regarding both cheerleading and eight-ball; if you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment. I'll try to do this for every chapter so that there's minimal confusion.
> 
> A couple other things I want to touch on:  
> 1\. Names are read in American format versus Japanese and have been demonstrated using Iwaizumi and Oikawa.  
> 2\. Only specific suffixes have been added to dialouge such as -sensei, -kouhai, and -senpai. I feel like adding -chan, -san, -kun, etc., sometimes takes away from the dialogue and, while this story is not dialogue heavy, I tried to minimize it at much as possible.  
> 3\. Calling others by their first name is still considered a high level of recognition in this. You'll notice that Satomi does not call anyody by their first name.  
> 4\. However, for the sake of not reading names over and over, first and last names are used interchangably during non-dialogue text.  
> 5\. Please practice responsible drug/alcohol consumption.  
> 6\. I realize Aobajohsai is technically one word. I didn't romanize it as such for the sake of the cheer mentioned in later chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved captain and vice-captain discover that Aoba Johsai has a cheerleading team. Or rather, Iwaizumi learns that the top of his class is the captain of a team that the population absolutely despises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Proper Dose" by The Story So Far. If the summary confuses you, I dare ya to tell me you didn't/don't hate cheerleaders in high school. I know everyone in my school hated us. RIP.

* * *

Many people say that high school will be the best years of their life. Surrounded by simplicity, laughter, and menial drama, many say that looking back on their high school years always brought fond memories. It was the actual process of participation in education where many struggled. Actually keeping up with club and sport performances, succeeding in coursework, balancing a healthy social life regardless of the current level of education was where many faltered. Even then, there were cases where one could succeed at all of the above, only to feel less than satisfactory in their achievements. 

Such was the case, or the curse, for Satomi Murakami

A true force to be reckoned with, Satomi started off in the college preparatory classes her first year at Aoba Johsai High—joining the school cheerleading team while simultaneously starting the Junior Japan Pool Association Team all in her first year. Typically, first years were not one to start their own sports teams or clubs, let alone a second club that was unnecessary for her curriculum, but determination and ambition were nearly a fault of Satomi’s. Many wondered how the young brunette had time to do as much as she did. On top of accelerated coursework, receiving nearly perfect marks in all of her classes, two-hour cheerleading practices Monday through Friday, and a billiards match on Thursday evenings, Satomi was as social as she needed to be. Always offering to help someone in need without overexerting or breaking her own personal boundaries—it was no wonder that she seemed to capture the interest of those who knew her name. 

It was diving deeper that proved to be an issue. 

Acquaintances, admirers, even friends, all came as quickly as they went with Satomi. As a natural born leader and teacher, many flocked to the young girl in hopes for her mentorship, her expertise. But no form of relationship ever went beyond that, no matter how hard she tried to extend a hand in friendship. More often than not, she was always alone in a crowded room. 

By her second year, she had gotten over the once prominent feelings of loneliness and instead embraced the top of the pyramid. “It’s always lonely at the top. Get used to it.” Her father had told her when she had tried to share how she was feeling. Silly her. To think the person that embraced, no, enforced, this overachieving attitude would understand. Or maybe he did, and he was just trying to save his daughter the overwhelming anchor on her chest when she realized she had no one to celebrate White Day with. 

By the start of her second year, Satomi Murakami had taken over the captain’s role on the cheerleading team while championing the same title for the second year in a row for Seijoh’s JJPA team. The emptiness in her chest had gradually dropped into a steady murmur that matched her heartbeat until it eventually fused with the muscle. It seemed the only thing that awoken her spirit was imperfection and the desire to overcome it and even then, it would quiet once again due to the desire to be genuinely liked by her peers and not wanting to gloat to them. 

What was the point of success if there was nobody to share it with?

“The top is lonely indeed, father.” Sixteen-year-old Satomi murmurs as she sits in the lone wicker chair in the shed in her backyard. Between her index and middle finger of her left half-gloved hand rests a half-smoked cigarette as she stares at the seven-foot pool table in front her of her, her cue in her right hand. Nobody knew of her vice and, if they did, they could not care less that despite her young age, Satomi was a smoker. Her parents, respective of her creative space, never checked the shed, to her knowledge. 

Frustrated, the brunette stared at the blue felt of the table, looking at the position of the three balls left, excluding the white cue ball. The nine ball married to the eight, resting nearly in the right corner pocket of the head rail while the fourteen rested on the center diamond on the back. No matter which side of the rack she was on, solids or stripes, there was no easy way to win. Quiet moments passed in her shed where nobody could see the way her slightly tanned, taught skin burned red with anger when she was stumped—when she had no out. Too pissed off and cloudy headed to continue, she tossed the now finished cigarette in an empty paint bucket to accompany their fallen brethren and hung up her white and blue cue on the wall of the shed. As she tackled most critical problems, Satomi walked away to give it ample analysis time to return to it at a later date. 

Wading through her backyard, Satomi retreated to her parent’s single family, two story home through the back sliding door. Welcomed by the light left on in the kitchen despite the empty floor, she pulled her shoes off before replacing them with house slippers on her feet, sauntering off upstairs to shower the smell of smoke off. Shedding off her loose tee shirt, cropped leggings and undergarments, Satomi ran the shower to allow the water to heat up while brushing her teeth for the evening. Spitting and rinsing out the toothpaste lingering on her slowly deteriorating teeth, she looked in the mirror. As much as she avoided her own reflection, she never failed to do so at night. At night, when her skin was listless and dull with her brown eyes and deep-set bags to match. At night, when she could see the cracking, dead skin pulling at her lips. New spots of acne began to rear their heads from underneath the foundation she had been wearing all day. 

Damn, did she hate looking at herself. 

A sigh left her chest as she entered her shower, attempting to wash her burdens off of her aching muscles. But even with the warm water relaxing them, her mind worked hard to make up for the lack of movement. Silently running through her mental agenda, Satomi broke down the rest of her schedule to make sure she had sufficient time to complete homework and study. Not that it would be an issue—in the last year she had more than mastered her strict plans. Removing herself from the brisk shower, she ran a towel through her scalp before using it to wrap her body and hole up in her room for the rest of the evening to focus on schoolwork. 

It was the same damn thing every day. School, practice, other practice, and more school with socialization covered in her club activities. With what people assumed to be the proper doses of each aspect of her life, Satomi Murakami has managed to achieve what many viewed as the perfect life. It was how she tended to guide her underclassmen and peers when confronted with the inquiry of how she managed to achieve such a tricky balance. 

“It’s all about having the proper dose of each category of your life to succeed.” 

If only success were an equivalent to having a passion for life. 

* * *

A few days into the start of the second term, many of the students were still adjusting back into their regular routines, jet-lagged and mourning the end of their summer vacation. Though, like many other proactive clubs, Satomi felt no different, as her summer vacation was spent with her billiards club traveling to America to compete in the Junior World American Pool Association tournament, held annually in Las Vegas, Nevada. Additionally, Satomi had spent remaining days of August at a training camp with her cheer squad upon her return to Japan. If anything, it was a relief to return to the normalcy that her life in Japan held in contrast to the bustling, sleepless streets of the desert. 

Satomi sat in her seat, poignant and punctual as ever, sitting in the desk in the second row closest to the window. Students came filing in the closer the time ticked to the start of home room. Chatter filled the air as there were some students still trying to catch up with their peers. “Murakami, how was your summer break?” She’d answer the question many times in the last few days, but Satomi answered as she always did—a glittering smile with her eyes squinting ever so slightly at an attempt to mask her ingenuity. 

“It was great!” _Exhausting_ , her inner voice drawled. “The pool team and I competed in an international tournament this summer.” _And was eliminated in the third round, just when double elimination matches were no longer permitted_ , Satomi snarled bitterly on the inside despite the soft grin on her face. 

“Wow, that’s amazing! You should teach me how to play sometime!” Had been the most popular response she’d receive when sharing that tidbit of information regarding her own, manmade club. 

“Our roster is currently full, but you’re free to come watch one of our matches sometime.” Satomi’s answer must have been deemed satisfactory by her classmate as they maneuvered to their own desk in excitement. Deep inside, she knew they would not spectate and that was okay. Either way, she held little regard for outsider’s opinion of the game; the game belonged to her and her team, and all the glory along with it.

Class proceeded as usual, siphoning through their homeroom briefing period, followed literature, history, science, and English. Satomi sat through classes mostly silent; answering questions when called on and giving correct answers, engaging in minimal yet enthralling conversation with her peers, and asking the respective teacher questions for clarity regarding the subject at hand. The day had come and gone like many before them and those to come. As students were packing up their belongings, their home room teacher called on Satomi. “Murakami-san, would you mind staying behind? Just for a moment?” Few students snickered, some howled in amusement, assuming that “little miss perfect” was in trouble. 

“Of course, Yanagisawa-sensei.” Satomi responded respectfully, ignoring her classmate’s chiding tone. It was most like nothing regarding her academic performance—if anything, it had something to do with the Aoba Johsai cheerleading team, as Sensei was her sponsor. After the remaining students trickled out, Satomi approached the teacher’s desk. 

“Regarding the cheerleading team, Murakami-san. We’ve been asked by the vice principal to expand the number of teams we support.” As the captain, Satomi bit her tongue, holding back any form of protest. “He believes anyone who is deemed to be a moral support squad should be so for as many other clubs as possible in official matches, not just the basketball and rugby teams, otherwise we face disbanding.” It took everything in her for Satomi not to roll her eyes. Many times in the past, the vice principal had made it be known to the student body that their team did not belong with the other award-winning teams in their arsenal. At one assembly, he even went so far as to not call their club for recognition when even her billiards team had been recognized, despite it being a brand new club with no amount of notoriety to its name. While she heard her sponsor’s words at face value, she understood the underlying tones that were laced with each syllable. 

“If I understand correctly, we are to attend more events and offer all of Seijoh’s extracurricular activities support otherwise the cheerleading team will be shut down, Sensei?” Yanagisawa-sensei nodded with her lips pulled taught. “I see. And what of our competitions in the winter? Are we supposed to just neglect them?” 

“I suppose we could barter with the vice principal and see if we could limit it to a single club per semester so you ladies may focus on our own club activities? Would that be more helpful?” _No_ , Satomi sourly added, hoping that her expression did not match her internal monologue. 

“Yes, thank you, Yanagisawa-sensei. I will connect with the team at practice today.” Satomi bowed in response before exiting her class and heading directly to her club room. She was the first one present, typical of her club. Many of her members were off socializing for the half hour between practice and classes, while Murakami focused on completing at least one homework assignment in the allotted time. Being in college preparatory courses left her little free time to be lax in coursework. 

The first to file in was the Seijoh cheer team’s vice captain, Hina Amakuza. Bright and bubbly, she was, and was the closest thing that Satomi could call a friend. The brunette second year woman greeted Hina, the blonde responding in her typical, cheerful trill. “Anyone else on their way in, or do we have a chance to talk?” Satomi questioned. 

“Probably have five minutes. What’s up, Satomi?” Hina was the closest she had to a friend, despite their severe differences. Satomi was muscular and well-built with a snarky personality to match whereas the blonde was petite and tiny with her much shorter locks dancing just barely above her shoulders—opposites in almost every way. Yet, Hina felt just as close—close enough to be on a first name basis with her captain.

“So, I guess the vice principal has asked for us to cheer at more events. We wanted to rebuttal with the idea of cheering for one sport per term, which means we would need to find a spring team.”

“How do we know that the VP would even go for it?” Hina’s face crossed and furrowed in a blend of anger, annoyance, and perplexity. What had initially brought the two girls together was their dedication and fire pumping through their blood to deliver their best performance during their winter competition season. As an ode to traditional American sideline cheerleading, the girls cheered for rugby and basketball in the fall and winter respectively with the spring and summer months used for training and tryout sessions. To add another session to the sideline aspect would shorten their skill training time, meaning less time allocated to orientate new team members. “This is a pain in the ass.” Hina grumbled, arms crossing over her modest chest. 

“I have an idea for a last resort, but it’s going to take a lot of convincing of our girls. Will you help me, Hina?” 

“Always, Satomi.”

The remaining twenty-four members of the Seijoh cheer team showed up to the large club room to store their book bags and gym bags after they had changed into practice clothes and clean shoes. With Satomi and Hina at the helm of the squad, the gaggle of girls walked towards an empty courtyard offset of the running track. “Alright, ladies!” Hina bellows loudly enthusiastically, halting all menial conversation amongst the girls. “Two sets of Indian runs around the track. First years, front of the line. One set is complete when the line leader returns to the front, am I clear?!” Despite her peppy demeanor, Hina was a whirlwind when it came to their team and their sport. Brutal and tough, but a slacker the chirpy blonde was not. It was the primary reason Satomi had chosen her as the vice-captain. 

The Indian run as a warmup left the girls panting, but rest was for the lazy after such a brief exertion of energy in Satomi’s eyes. Each of the members had lined up in four rows of six, each line staggering behind to fill gaps so that the captains could see everyone as they faced them. All of them were sitting in a straddle position as far as their hips would allow, arms out in front of them with their heads up. “Everyone, count!” Hina’s voice could be heard first as she summoned the power of her voice. The girls stretches ran for five minutes, ensuring the peak of their flexibility with every practice. With hip muscles loosened, the girls stood up, awaiting more direction. “Everyone warm up one standing and running pass, then we’re gonna get into stunt groups.” 

Watching twenty-five or so girls perform magical flips, practice or not, was mesmerizing to watch and, to the surprise of nobody, the girls had begun to gather up a crowd. Bystanders murmured blurred words of incredulity, all of it falling on deaf ears as Satomi went last to throw her running pass. Two backhand springs to a full twisting layout—a pass that required precision and athleticism and was the goal for many on and off the team. 

“Huh. Since when do we have a gymnastics team?” One of the bystanders mentioned offhandedly. A tall second year, walking alongside his closest companion on the way to their own club room. 

“I think that’s the cheerleading team?” The shorter, tanner one of the duo mentioned with mirroring confusion, squinting as he thought he recognized someone, though he chalked it up to his imagination. Automatically, the taller of the two let out a scoff. It was a common reaction to those that did not know much about the sport, let alone that Aoba Johsai had a designated team that had so many members. Even if onlookers were shaken by the sheer force and strength it must have taken for mere girls to hold up a person, it was always diluted immediately with the announcement of the title, thanks to the vice principal’s flippant attitude to the team.

“Are they even allowed to call themselves a sports team?” The tall brunette scoffed again as the girls began to form clusters of four. One formed the rear of a diamond formation with two more groupings flanking each side and one group on the opposing end of the shape, making the top point. Even from the distance the two second years were at, they could hear the entire team’s collective voice at a thundering volume. 

“Five, six, seven, eight.” All twenty-six of them clapped before uniform stances were made—girls with their backs turned to the boys dropped low, squatting with their backs straight. To the right, they noticed that these participants seemed to be taller than the rest of the team, while the smallest seemed to hold the gravity of the cluster. They were still counting. By the next five count, the center girls were in the air only by their right leg, their left bending to rest their foot next to their knee. By the next one count, each of the groups dipped to turn, the flyers now facing the boys in a heel stretch body position. On the final five count, each stunt group dipped again, only to release the airborne girls. “Twist!” Came from the depths of the back spots in lieu of a count. In front and center, the boys noticed the girl had twisted much longer than the other groups. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious, shittykawa.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes before walking off without the taller second year. Annoying to a fault, Tooru Oikawa rarely acknowledged others athletic ability and, unfortunately, the Seijoh cheerleading team was no exception. A third scoff left the taller boy’s lips before he sauntered off to attend his own practice. For his actual sport. 

On the field, Yanagisawa approached the team she was sponsoring, attempting to approach both the captain and vice-captain. “Grab some water, ladies. You’ve earned it.” Satomi called out before giving her undivided attention to her home room teacher. “Hello, Sensei.” The brunette greets before giving a polite bow. 

“Hello, Murakami-san. Amakuza-San, I’m assuming you’ve been informed?” Hina gives a tight-lipped nod before allowing their sponsor to continue. “The vice principal has accepted our offer to only add one additional sports team to cheer for in the spring so that you all can focus on competition season.” Satomi was pleased, nodding thoughtfully before attempting to wipe the sweat from her brow. At least she would not have to ask the girls to divide into groups to cheer for all active sport clubs, as her last resort plan entailed. 

“Okay, so who are we cheering for?” Hina asks. 

“I thought it would be better for you two to decide since you have to adjust your chants to suit the sport.” Yanagisawa-Sensei was the best. For a university preparatory teacher, she granted quite a hefty amount of freedom, especially to her club members. She had told Satomi once it was due to the fact that when her students graduated, they were to be functioning members of society that only had local and national ordinances governing them. People were generally free to do as they pleased and if they did not exercise that right with respect, then she failed as a teacher. 

The three of them decided to make the announcement during their cool down session, which allowed Yanagisawa-Sensei to watch the girls’ abilities with a careful eye. Not that she needed to. Each and every one of these students was in cautious hands with Satomi and Hina at the helm. “Great job today, ladies!” The blonde vice-captain jeered as they were instructed to line up once again in their staggered rows of six. Additionally, they were instructed to count their stretch on their own to allow Satomi to make announcements.

“I have some bad news for you guys, but I want you guys to hear me out really quick.” The captain only paused to readjust her arms for her stretch, but the silence bubbled a fear in her team. Rumors had been floating around that the cheerleading was receiving the metaphorical boot due to the ongoing debate of whether or not it was a sport. If it were deemed that way, then cheerleading could no longer be considered a sports club, nor was it a cultural club, and the team would be disbanded. “Our vice principal presented Yanagisawa-Sensei with an ultimatum—we either cheer for another sporting event in the spring session or we have to disassemble.” Losing track of their stretch counts, the girls erupted with voluminous complaints. 

“But captain-senpai, doesn’t that interfere with your other club?” One of the first years chimed with no filter. 

“That doesn’t matter.” Satomi said brusquely. “What matters is you guys and this team. I can handle my other team.” The volume dropped as a few of the girls looked at each other in slight concern for their captain. Of those who paid attention, many knew the loyalty the captain had to both of her sports—she loved them equally. They also knew that if she had to divide her time even further, surely her sanity would crumble. “I am going to allow you ladies to vote on which team we cheer for. You don’t have to give a reason—“ squeals sounded from many of the first years, the noise piercing through Satomi’s ear drums. 

“Boys Volleyball!” The unanimity almost frightened the captain as she looked to her co-captain so as to silently ask, ‘ _what the hell_?’ Hina cleared her throat before taking over the metaphorical floor. 

“Oooookay, any other suggestions?” Silence. The only possible opposition it seemed was from a third year back spot. 

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea. Typically, boys’ volleyball games fall on weekends, which wouldn’t interfere as bad with Satomi-kouhai’s schedule.” The woman in question wished that her heart would have swelled at the consideration, but her lack of empathy just would not let her. 

“It’s going to be...different, for lack of better term, if we cheer for them.” Satomi was trying to be considerate to her team members that loved the physical aspect of cheerleading. The tumbling, stunting, and jumping would all have to be cast aside if they were to follow through on this. “I believe we would have to sit in bleachers, meaning we wouldn’t be able to work on stunts or passes.” This time, a first year raised her hand before she was called on to speak. 

“But it’s after our competition season and at the beginning of the year, so it might be a good time for us to work on the sideline stuff when it’s our only focus!” She was one of the few that immediately shot after this idea and the fight she was providing for her argument was admirable. The captains looked at each other before shrugging and conceding. 

“If nobody has any objections, then we’ll proceed with the proposal to the vice principal. Starting the following April of the upcoming school year, the Seijoh cheerleading squad will be cheering for the boys’ volleyball club.”

Practice had wrapped up for the evening with the sun setting over the Sendai horizon and many of the students that had finished their after-school activities were well on their ways home. Satomi has locked up the club room, as she was the last one to leave, before preparing herself for the half-hour walk home. The club room storage units were located past the gyms belonging to other clubs and, much to her surprise, there were people still practicing. “Don’t forget to lock up before you leave, assikawa.” A deep voice called out over the sound of The Story So Far playing gently in her headphones, into the nearly empty gym as she walked by. Knowing that whoever this boy was, was not speaking to her, she moved on with her evening. The sound coming from her headphones could be heard in the still of the night—tearing Hajime’s attention away from his shithead best friend to follow the noise. With a thick, quirked brow, he tilted his head, now definitely recognizing his classmate. “Hey, Murakami!” But her head never turned, urging the boy to chase after her; he had to know. When he was close enough to her, half sprinting to catch up to how far her tiny legs had carried her, he called her name again only to be ignored. Hajime, this time, brought a calloused hand up to grab her shoulder, the air of presence becoming known to Satomi. 

“Can I help you?” Despite her cheerful, smiling face, Satomi’s eyes held a distant, crazed gleam that reeked of danger in addition to the malice that dripped from her words. Noticing the alert on Hajime’s face, the angered expression softened slightly as she reoriented herself. “Oh, it’s just you, Iwaizumi.” Satomi, ever the observer, recognized her classmate easily enough. Though, due to the hour and the sweaty gym clothes, she was able to deduce that the boy had just been relieved from his club as well. 

“Yeah.” As conversation continued, the two began to walk together, their steps falling into a natural rhythm. Somewhere in between the lines and the particles in the air, Hajime had wordlessly decided he would walk with his classmate until their paths diverged. “Did I see you with the cheerleading team earlier? Is that why you’re just now heading home?” Somewhere deep in the tissue of his muscles, deep in his soul even, Iwaizumi felt the need to ask her just to confirm it was her he saw as he walked to practice with Oikawa. 

Her, Satomi Murakami. The top of class 2-5, who seemed to be liked by nearly everyone, was also a cheerleader? It seemed contradictory. How could someone so well received belong to a club that was so hated by all of Aoba Johsai? “Yeah, guess you saw me, huh? I’m the captain.” The lilt of her voice broke Iwaizumi’s stirring thoughts momentarily—she was the captain? Silence overtook the air for a moment to the point where Satomi almost wanted to just turn her music back on. She wanted to, but that would be rude, she figured. Ever being the people pleaser, she decided to keep conversation going instead. “What about you, Iwaizumi, you just finished up practice too?”

“Oh, yeah. Oikawa wanted me to stay later but I should probably go home and study.”

“Who?” Now that was a first. Normally, any conversation Iwaizumi had with any person, the focus would shift to the aforementioned boy. He had never been presented with a person that did not know him. 

“Tooru Oikawa? Captain of the volleyball team?” Satomi only have a shrug of her shoulders in uncertainty. Internally, she was grateful Hajime had dropped the name of the club he belonged to. While not wanting to appear rude and asking him outright, she had next to no information as to who the person walking beside her was. All she knew for sure was that they were in the same class and that his name was Hajime Iwaizumi. Other than that, Satomi’s metaphorical database that stored useless information regarding people she had never intimately interacted was essentially nonexistent. “Well, anyway...” the boy trailed off momentarily, still awestruck by the fact that someone did not kiss the ground his friend walked on. In a strange way, it was relief for Iwaizumi—a clean slate for the boy that had nearly lived in his best friend’s shadow. 

“Outside of my clubs and our class, I’m afraid I don’t know very many people.” Maybe it was the innate desire that Satomi had to be palatable to the public that forced such polite words from her lips despite her inner monologue coercing the thought of telling Iwaizumi to fuck off. Such was recurring waging war within her own psyche—the social dichotomy of wishing to be liked and wanting to be left alone. “You mentioned volleyball, right?” The voices quieted down momentarily, long enough for Satomi to ask the boy beside her the question without stumbling over her words. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot more over the next year.”

“Huh?” An air of familiarity permeated the awkward tension between the two of them. Did she not realize the two of them had been in the same class last year as well? It would seem not. 

“It’s not official yet, but supposedly we’re supposed to be cheering for your team during tournaments.” Hajime failed at hiding the shock that took over his features. While it was true, Aoba Johsai had quite a large cheering section, mostly for Oikawa’s sake he would bitterly add, no other school in the prefecture had an official cheer squad. And, as much as Hajime wanted to ask for further clarity, Satomi had walked off in a direction, presumably on the way to her home, leaving him dumbfounded and standing at a cross section of local streets. 

“Hey!” Oikawa’s voice could be heard down the street, the tall and prim brunette running towards his old childhood friend. Upon catching up with the shorter man, the captain followed his partner’s gaze that was glued to the short, unknown girl. “Oh, Iwa found a lady, huh?” 

“She’s a classmate, dumbass.” Iwaizumi drawled before once again falling in sync step for step with friend as they walked back to their neighborhood together. “Were you aware we were going to have cheerleaders this upcoming season?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Ugh,” the shorter of the two men scoffed. “I mean like actual cheerleaders. Cheering for the team? Not your stupid fucking fan club.” Mockingly, Oikawa scolded the slightly older boy for his vulgarity. A typical tactic he used to avoid genuine, serious conversation. 

“And?” Was Iwaizumi trying to make a point? As if their presence made any difference of the boys’ volleyball team’s performance. 

“Dude, can you get your head out of your ass for once? Maybe it would be nice for some of us to get some support for a change—it’s not always about you.” The sneer in the shorter man’s voice sent a tremor through the setter’s chest. It’s not that it was all about him. But...

Did the great captain Tooru Oikawa not provide enough support to his team? 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet, vulnerable even. A minuscule sign of sincerity. “I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why you got me, right? To keep your ass in check?” A small smile touched both of the boys’ lips in ode to the basis of their friendship. Tooru Oikawa—a man with great promise and even greater presence that utilized his natural leadership to bring out the best in everyone on his team. Hajime Iwaizumi—the Seijoh ace that knew how to keep his team and, most importantly, Oikawa grounded to ensure success. A truly dynamic duo. “I found out from that chick I was walking with—Murakami. She’s in my class and apparently is the cheer captain.” 

“So, what, they just wanted to support us out of the goodness of their heart? Or maybe they need a better reputation are using us to get there?” Despite Oikawa’s profound reputation of being pleasantly popular with everyone he encountered; his true side seemed to show when around a select number of people. As expected, Iwaizumi was one of these people. It was rare for the public to see the skeptical, analytical side of Oikawa. 

“Okay,” Hajime decides to humor him. An equally rare occurrence. “Say that’s true—what would they stand to gain from having a better reputation?”

“I don’t know, Iwa. But we’re gonna find out.” The shorter man glared dangerously, not liking the direction in which Oikawa was guiding the conversation. By now, the pair had already arrived at the street that harbored their homes only just a few houses apart but stood just outside of Oikawa’s to finish their talk. 

“Dude, no. It’s really not that deep.” Hajime attempts to protest.

“It might not be. But my gut just tells me that something is off.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology/Lingo:
> 
> Japan Pool Association: The governing body of amateur pool in Japan, similar to how America has APA (which is the league I shoot for). Despite APA standing for American Pool Association, they do host countries from all over the world to compete in the first week of August. These countries typically include Canada, China, America, and France. The APA has a junior division as well that has teams comprised of teens ranging from 15-18.
> 
> Cue Ball: The white ball with no number. The only ball that a player must hit to perform a shot.
> 
> Eight/Nine/Fourteen ball: Nine and fourteen are both striped balls, meaning if Satomi was shooting from the solid side, she needs to get the eight in, which was impossible for her to do without hitting the nine first. Hitting the nine first would have been a foul.
> 
> Married: When two balls are touching.
> 
> Head rail: The rail closest to where the rack starts.
> 
> Back rail: Where the shooter breaks the rack from.
> 
> Indian run: The whole team lines up and runs while the person at the back of the line sprints to the front. The more people on your team, the more challenging this is. Seijoh's cheer team in this has twenty six members.
> 
> Running/standing pass: Running tumbling--think of a gymnast performing a floor exercise where they run, typically do a round-off (cartwheel with legs together), backhand spring (a back flip with hands touching the ground), and a variation of a tuck (an aerial back flip). Standing is when flips are performed without the steps or round-off to give the tumbler power. Standing passes are typically harder to perform because of lack of power.
> 
> Full (twisting layout): Typically called a "full" in the acrobatics world. Variation of a layout, a back flip that is performed without bending or curling the body, so the athelete's body is completely straight. In a full, the tumbler twists 360 degrees before completing the flip.
> 
> Stunt groups: This definition will be in every chapter to serve as a reminder! Stunt groups in an all girls cheer team typically consists of 4-5 people. The center of every group is called a flyer or top girl, they are the ones who are lifted and perform tricks and stunts while in the air. Below are two bases and a back spot. Primary bases are on the flyer's right and are responsible for the direction of the flyer while holding their toe and heel in their hands. Secondary or side bases are on the flyer's left with their hands sandwiching the center space of their foot; they are the stability of the stunt group, as they carry most of the weight of the flyer. The back spot holds the back of the leg and ankle of the flyer when they are in the air. When coming down or catching, the back spot catches the flyers by linking their arms underneath the flyer's armpits.
> 
> Twist: In this context, the twist is a variation of a cradle. Cradles are when groups throw their flyer into the air to be caught by the group, 360-720 degree twists are added for difficulty.


	2. Let It Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi and Oikawa come to pick apart Murakami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satomi is a brat and I'm sorry (no I'm not).

* * *

Three days had gone by since Hajime walked home with Satomi Murakami. Originally, he had planned to keep the distance she seemed to desire, but upon finding out from Mizoguchi that Seijoh was indeed gaining the support of the cheer team, he could not stop himself with sharing the confirmation with the cheer captain. “Murakami!” Iwaizumi all but burst into the classroom, striding up to her desk at a pace between a march and a saunter. The brunette woman looked up in alarm, full honey brown eyes looking at the boy in alert. 

“Uh, hi, Iwaizumi?” 

“It’s confirmed! You’re gonna be cheering for us now!” She looked up in slight concern, wishing that he would at least turn his volume down slightly. He seemed to get the message, her face betraying the guise she tried to seem, and gave an apology. “Coach said you guys will be there for our tournament next month.” There was no hiding Iwaizumi’s excitement regarding the news. And, though he tried to deny it to himself many times, the joy was born from the idea that he would finally get the recognition he deserved as the ace of Aoba Johsai. 

“Wait, next month? We were told we don’t start this until spring of next year?” The two 2-5 students held their eyes in a stare down—waiting for the other to bow and break, succumbing to the other’s intensity. Without speaking again, Satomi marched straight to Yanagisawa-sensei’s desk before bowing and pardoning herself before asking, “Sensei, is that true? I thought we didn’t have to start this until spring?”

“Unfortunately, these were the vice principal’s terms. We can discuss further this before practice, Murakami-San.” Truly, Yanagisawa felt awful. Her brightest pupil now needed to take on an even heftier workload and, despite Satomi’s impeccable balance and success in all that she did, she knew deep inside that Satomi was a ticking time bomb. “We’ll figure it out.” Yanagisawa said before dismissing the student back to her seat. 

Iwaizumi had returned to his own seat on the opposite side of the room, noting how much darker Satomi’s expression became. The once bright and bouncy glint in her eyes immediately being painted over with gloom and fragility. He’d seen that expression too many times like it were a sixth sense—Hajime could spot ingenuity from the opposite side of the continent. He supposed it was thanks to his long-term friendship with Oikawa, though it was nothing to be thankful for. Nobody should be able to detect counterfeit people so easily. 

Over the intercom, the gentle rolling of bells indicated the start of class time, putting the previous conversation on hiatus until lunch. With his bento in hand, Iwaizumi walks up to Satomi’s desk on the left side of the room, taking a seat at the desk in front of her before turning to face her fully. “I’m sorry about earlier. It didn’t even occur to me that you or your team isn’t as excited about this as some of us are.” Some, with the exclusion of Oikawa. 

“That’s alright, it just caught me off guard.” Satomi’s bare, semi-cracked lips turned upwards at the corners, offering a delicate smile. How had Hajime not noticed before the utter bullshit that radiated off of her expressions? 

“I can tell you’re upset.” Blunt and straightforward as ever, his words had taken Satomi aback, even if only by the slightest. Her lack of response confirmed it for him. “I’ll just say I’m really excited to have you all there rather than shittykawa’s personal fan club act as our cheerleaders.” The nickname caused her to snort in the most unladylike fashion, liquid threatening to spew from her mouth and nose as she had just finished taking a swig from her juice box. Ultimately, she decided to save the topic of the birth of the name ‘shittykawa’ for another day, instead addressing her opinions on the event bringing these two together. 

“I’m not upset that it’s happening,” She started off slowly. “I just have so much to balance and adding another appointment to my agenda is really gonna throw me out of whack.”

“What else you got going on?” Despite Iwaizumi’s bullshit radar blaring alarmingly earlier, there was something about the way Satomi carried herself in the moment that proved she was being real. She proceeded to tell him how, on top of attending school the mandatory thirty seven hours a week, she practiced ten hours a week for cheerleading while dedicating a minimum of two hours a night to coursework and studying and at least one hour of billiards practice in her shed at home. 

“When we have games and sporting events to cheer for, that’s a whole other two hours added to my day that I have to take from other activities.”

“Wait, we have a billiards team?” Murakami fought the urge to roll her eyes, as if she had not heard that before. Nobody ever seemed to know of the small club’s existence or the sweat and tears she shed in the previous year when she tried to form the team. Days upon days of advertising, talking with students, phone calls with other schools in the Miyagi prefecture to create a junior division on top of trying to figure out spaces available for official play; the amount of effort she put in was one of the primary reasons she refused to disband the team despite wearing herself thin. And though she tried to hide it, Iwaizumi had taught the feint twitch of her eye muscles. “Hey, to be fair I’ve been playing volleyball almost my entire life. Looking at other clubs never even occurred to me.”

“That’s fair,” Satomi announces as she packs up her lunch so has not to leave her desk dirty while they continued their conversation. “Yes, there is a Seijoh pool team. As well as one for almost every school in the Miyagi prefecture now. I had to collaborate with other schools in the area so that we could qualify as an official league.” As the minutes passed by, the boy began to notice that the more she spoke of creating the pool team, club, whatever it was legally defined as, her ingenuity began to dissipate. Passion is how he would describe it. 

Just over a half hour later, the bell chimed, signifying the end of the free period Murakami and Iwaizumi spent together. In their own respects, the two of them found their minds wandering off to their exchange. In Iwaizumi’s mind, he had learned much about the girl—how she decided to join the cheerleading team, why she decided to take on two clubs despite being heavily discouraged to do so with her being in college preparatory classes, and why she chose billiards specifically. All the while, Hajime had been psychoanalyzing her. 

Satomi had humored the boy in conversation, initially out of courtesy, but found herself thoroughly enjoying it. Typically when people attempted to form friendships with her, it was for their own personal gain and when she would reach out to spend time with them, she was always denied or ignored. The recurring, painful process was one of the many reasons she had started distancing herself. The Seijoh pool team was one of her attempts at making friends and, while the club had kept her social needs satisfied, interactions outside of the club were few and far between. Satomi’s conversation with Iwaizumi had left her with the sudden realization of how lonely she really was. 

After class clean up and dismissal, the Aoba Johsai ace waited for the cheer captain just outside the classroom, finding her company captivating. When she exited the class with her bag slung over her shoulder, Iwaizumi called her name, pulling away from the wall he was leaning on. “You have practice today?” The two students fell into a freshly familiar rhythm, walking side by side downstairs towards the athletic locker rooms. 

“Cheer practice and a pool match.” 

“Oh? What time? Do you mind if I come watch?” Satomi gave a brief shrug, stopping at a vending machine to grab an extra bottle of water for practice with Hajime skidding to a halt to keep pace with her. 

“If you like. It can be pretty boring for spectators sometimes.” Instead of a verbal rebuttal, Iwaizumi simply held up his cellphone. The screen was open to a blank new contact sheet, wordlessly asking her to enter her phone number. 

“Don’t try to be all coy, Murakami. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” Conceding with his wishes, Satomi took his cell, typing in her digits and leaving her family name as the contact name. 

“I’m not trying to be coy; I’m just warning you.” Despite being completely honest, a teasing tone danced in her words that did not go above Iwaizumi’s head. “Anyway, I should really get to practice. I’ll, uh, see you tonight.” Satomi entered the women’s locker room, grabbing her duffel bag filled with spare soffee shorts and loose tees and her nfinity cheer shoes before heading off to her club room, storage keys in hand. 

Meanwhile, Tooru Oikawa, finally, catches up to Iwaizumi. On a normal day, Iwaizumi would wait for the captain after classes finished, considering class 2-6 was next door. Clearly today was different as Oikawa waited for the ace, only to realize his room was empty. “You didn’t wait for me today.” The tall brunette points out when the two enter the volleyball club room. 

“Oh, so sorry,” Hajime drawls sarcastically. “Didn’t realize it was an obligation, assikawa.”

“Jeez, testy today, aren’t you?” Instead of indulging in his behavior, Iwaizumi, already changed into his practice clothes, heads to the gym to get an early start on warmups. Even for his typical, short tempered self, the ace was acting strange. And, being ever the investigator, Oikawa was going to learn the reason why. 

The clock struck a quarter past five in the evening when the Aoba Johsai cheer team had finally come together to discuss what chants they would use during volleyball matches—a strange conversation to even be had for veteran cheerleaders such as Satomi and Hina. For the first hour, the team had spent their time focusing on finessing group stunts and basket tosses—skills that had left them haggard and damn near injured. The two leaders especially, as they attempted more challenging stunts that they would hopefully be able to teach the rest of the teams and incorporate the moves into their competitive routine. Satomi had suffered Hina’s foot to her head at least once during a stunt, accompanied with multiple rips and cuts on her knuckles and fresh bruises on her knees. 

Sore was an understatement for these ladies. 

Practice wrapped up thirty minutes later, a blessing from the team gifted unto Satomi, so that she could attend her billiards match. Regardless of the reputation of the cheerleading team, she was proud to be their captain. The brunette scurried off to the club room to change into street clothes, leaving her duffel bag equipped with an extra set of practice clothes for the following day. With her leather cue case and rucksack strapped to her back, Satomi called out her farewells and thanks to her team before rushing off towards the match venue. 

Thankfully, Caffe Veloce was not too too far from Aoba Johsai—a forty-five minute walk at most with a leisurely pace. It had taken many phone calls with different local cafes that had pool tables, an active Japan Pool Association league, and said league operator for the prefecture to be able to find a spot that acted as a central hub for the junior participates. With all the effort and time it had taken, it came as a surprise to those who did not know Satomi that she did not call it quits sooner. Those who do know her, however, knew she saw it as a challenge. 

Satomi Murakami loves a good challenge. 

Arriving at the cafe, Murakami recognizes one other teammate of hers—a talented male third year who always came early and stayed until the very end. Shinji Hiroaki was the co-captain of the Seijoh pool team and had been a lifesaver for Murakami many times on nights she had to ditch early or entirely to make sure she had ample time for schoolwork. “Oi, Hiroaki-senpai.” The second-year girl calls out, setting her belongings down on the table where their folder sat unopened. 

“Hey, Tomi, what’s up?” Hiroaki was laidback and lax—an ideal counterpart to Satomi’s high strung, need for perfectionism personality. Small talk was exchanged between the two as she assembled her cue sticks with her playing glove adorning half of her left hand. After clearing the table, Satomi began to rack all fifteen balls into a triangle, ensuring no gaps between any of them to start a warmup game. One by one, they traded turns sinking solids and stripes respectively until Satomi had lined herself up with the lone black eight ball. And one by one, the three other remaining members of their team entered the threshold of Caffe Veloce. 

With only fifteen minutes to go before the start of their match, Satomi had snuck off to the alleyway beside the building to attempt to have a cigarette, as per usual of her Thursday night ritual. The smoke stick was held together by her gloved left hand while her right was free to scroll through various social media apps on her cell. As she mindlessly scrolled, a text from an unfamiliar number popped up. 

* * *

**XXX-XXXX**

_Hey, I think I’m here? Where you at?_

* * *

Aw, shit, chimed her internal monologue. That had to be Iwaizumi, and she was barely halfway done with her only cigarette of the day so far. Immediately, she began taking longer drags in a futile attempt to deliver the nicotine to her body faster. 

* * *

**Murakami**

_Sorry, one sec. Outside on the phone._

* * *

_That was a believable lie, right?_ She wondered. Satomi burned through the rest of the tobacco before rubbing the cherry off on the wall of the cafe and tossing the butt into a nearby trash can. There was not much she could do to mask the scent except hope that Iwaizumi either did not pick up on it or believed whatever lie she managed to come up with. She prayed for the latter. 

Right at the entrance stood Hajime Iwaizumi, whom Satomi recognized instantly, and an unknown, taller boy beside him. Shit, she cursed silently again, at least hoping to be able to tip toe off to the ladies’ room to wash her hands. No such luck, it would appear. “Iwaizumi, thank you so much for coming.” Satomi gave her best award-winning smile despite her paranoia, despite the fact that Hajime could see right through her. 

“Told you I would be here,” He mutters in response, hopefully quietly enough that the man beside him did not hear. “Murakami, this is Tooru Oikawa, the one I was telling you about the other day.”

“Oh, talking about me, Iwa?” The paler man jests, eyes locking into the significantly shorter woman. “Pleasure to meet you, Murakami.” Oikawa gave an elegant bow in welcome, to which Satomi responded with a wrinkling of her nose. 

“All he said was your name; we didn’t talk about you.” Being put off from his sickeningly sweet, teasing words, Satomi gave an icy response before redirecting her attention towards her classmate. “We’re sitting over here.” The girl motions for the two taller boys to follow after her tiny, five-foot-three frame towards their match table. 

Tonight’s match was against Oomisaki High School, a team that was nothing to brag home about in Satomi’s opinion. While the same could be said for their volleyball team, Hajime still asked as many questions as he could muster to try to understand the parameters and the situation of the sport. And while he was not necessarily asking questions, Oikawa was assessing the nature and culture of the game as well. Satomi and the Oomisaki captain approached the table, a coin held in her left hand before flipping it. Oomisaki had won the coin toss with the call of tails. “We’ll put up first,” said their captain. 

Oomisaki announced their first player of the evening: a stocky boy standing at a decent height of five-foot-seven that ranked as a skill level four. In rebuttal, Satomi introduced a first-year rookie that clocked in as a skill level three. “So keep me up to speed here, Murakami. I wanna know what’s going on.” Iwaizumi had taken to standing just behind where Satomi sat to keep score, the rest of her team practicing while Oikawa sat directly across from her. While he had yet to speak again, the volleyball captain had just watched the woman in front of him filling out the scoresheet with perfect penmanship. 

“Okay, so we flipped a coin to see who gets to choose their player first. They won and they wanted to throw first, so next is our turn to present a player that they need to counter. They chose what’s called an SL four—the skill levels are numbered two through seven with two being the weakest and seven being the strongest.” Iwaizumi listened thoughtfully as she explained the basic principles of the sport, turning her torso every now and again to mark an inning or defensive shot on the score sheet. In the meantime, Oikawa has been observing the way the other two second years were interacting with each other. Their body language screamed uncomfortable, but their facial expressions seemed to relay a delicate happiness that Tooru had not seen on Hajime’s face in quite some time. 

_Why the hell did I think tagging along for this would be a good idea_ , Oikawa internally groaned. How the hell was this even considered a sport club, he wondered. “You know,” Iwaizumi’s voice increased as he prepared to direct a snide comment towards the overtly bored friend of his. “I told you that you should have gone home instead, but you insisted.” Oikawa only shrugged. 

“Come on, Iwa. You know the only reason I’m here is to learn more about the head captain of our future fan squad.” An audible scoff could be heard from the woman as she stood up from the small round table with a sand timer in hand. Satomi placed the one minute timer on the edge of the table and briskly walked over to her confused teammate. Only snippets of their conversation could be heard by the two Aoba Johsai spectators. “What’s she doing?” Oikawa asked, studying the way her face had suddenly lost all whisper of emotion. Her hands were moving in grandiose direction but the words that came from her lips were foreign. 

“She’s giving a coach.” Hiroaki says from behind the second years. “Our player was about to take a shot that would have left him with a difficult shot on the eight ball, so she’s telling him how to get a better set.” The sand in the timer emptied and with a reassuring pat on the back and closed eye grin, Satomi returned to the table she was sitting at with Oikawa. Unmoving like the London Guard, Satomi watched with intensity as her teammate executed the path laid out before her, successfully taking the first game. With excitement, the player hollered before running towards his side of the table, receiving high fives and fist bumps from his teammates and even the two second year spectators. 

“So now we’re on the hill, meaning that we need to win one more game to take the match. Typically to take match, you have to win one less game than your skill level.” Murakami was now sitting to face the match table completely, as opposed to hunching over the score sheet, to look up at Iwaizumi as she spoke. Oikawa had droned out of any bit of the conversation he could hear between his childhood friend and the stranger before him. The unsettling feeling of her lingering presence struck a chord with his intuition once again. Abruptly, Satomi stood up to congratulate her player on sweeping the Oomisaki team in the first match, reaching for her own cue stick as she did so. “We’re throwing me!” She boomed towards the opposing team, clearing the blue felt of the remaining balls on the table. 

“So what’s her skill level?” Iwaizumi asked Hiroaki, who had taken her place to keep score. 

“She’s a four.” 

“And the lowest is two? Kinda a strange for a captain to only be two levels better than the bottom.” Oikawa sneered politely, his nonexistent filter allowing sharp words to pass. But the airy lilt to his words did not go over Hiroaki’s head—whoever this boy is, was insinuating weakness in his captain. A sore subject for Shinji, after having to defend the ridicule that came her way many times in the past. 

“The ranking system is sexist in countries across the world.” The co-captain ground out, though not sharing eye contact with the boy sitting beside him. Instead, Hiroaki opted to keep his eyes on the match as Satomi cleared the first game with only two innings. After a round of high fives and fist bumps, she grabbed a different cue—an all-white carbon-based cue that seemed to weigh down in her grip more than her other. Lining up the cue ball to the right side of the kitchen, the space between the second diamond and the back rail, she hammered her break between the rack. Balls shot at various speeds throughout the table, some dropping, some bumping each other out of the way from making it in—including the eight ball. “Make no mistake. Just because Tomi-Kouhai is a four, doesn’t mean she plays like one. On some nights, she’s even better than I am.” Shinji Hiroaki sealed the remainder of the conversation with that, and Oikawa accepted it. 

The tall, Aoba Johsai setter, instead, turned to watch as Murakami lined up for another shot. For the entirety of the evening, Oikawa had spent his time observing—something he only did when he was on the court—but there was just something about this Satomi Murakami that made him want to boil his own teeth. It was beyond the strange gravitational pull she had on his childhood friend who, in a matter of four days, was completely enthralled by her for no apparent reason. 

Murakami was nothing to write home about. Standing at a measly five foot three, maybe four if he felt like being generous, Satomi lacked typical femininity. She was petite but, from what Oikawa could deduce from under her baggy paper bag waist jeans and her contradictory tight, long sleeved crop top, she had a muscular build that gave her a slightly masculine frame. Her brown hair was knotted into a sloppy top-bun, matted with sweat presumably from her earlier practice. Brown eyed, dull eyed, plain Jane, Oikawa deemed her. 

Yet it was not her physical appearance that bugged him, nor was it her looks that seemed to draw Iwaizumi, and the rest of Aoba Johsai, to her. From the information he gathered, one of the most fascinating things about Satomi Murakami was her impeccable balance of life. She excelled in her coursework, had the physical capability of flipping and twisting her body in unimaginable ways, and put together not only her own club, but was the inspiration and catalyst for other schools in the Miyagi prefecture to follow suit. Above all else, she was kind and respectful to most she knew—or at least that seemed to be the aura she gave off. It was as if she knew exactly how to allocate her time properly to maximize her performance. As if she did not need natural athleticism or hard work and dedication to succeed because she figured out some complex algorithm. 

As if Satomi Murakami was some form of a genius. 

* * *

The weekend acted as a reprieve to many people, students and functioning adults of the like. Or at least, it was supposed to. While many students still attended their Saturday lessons, with Aoba Johsai being no different, it was rare for students to utilize the time that was designated for relaxing and catching up on other aspects of their life, for other activities. For the volleyball team, there was no time to rest—at least not in captain Oikawa’s eyes. 

The Miyagi Prefecture Spring playoffs was just around the corner, with just under fifteen days left to practice until the first week of October. Even after practice had long ended, the captain remained in the gymnasium with his vice-captain, working on finessing his serves and receives. “Alright, man.” Iwaizumi says between pants, catching the ball that had been sent to him rather than sending it back over the net. “You need to get some rest before you hurt yourself.”

“Do you remember the promise we made? Two years ago?” Oikawa’s voice travels through the empty walls of the gym. “That we would defeat Ushiwaka?” 

“And we will, dude. But you have got to take a break before you injure yourself.” Iwaizumi knew that no matter how much he pleaded politely, the use of force was going to be necessary at some point. Tporu Oikawa was too stubborn for his own good. 

“I can’t rest. Not until we make good on our promise.” The taller of the two smacked the volleyball into the ground beneath him a few more times before going for one more serve. By now, Hajime moved away from the court and begins taking down the net to signify that clean up was starting whether Oikawa wanted to or not. There were days that his stubbornness rivaled that of Iwaizumi’s, but he would be damned if today was one of those days. Seceding to his vice captain’s wishes, Oikawa began cleaning up the stray balls that littered the court before wheeling them off to the storage room while Iwaizumi put away the posts and the nets. The pair worked in silence. 

Meanwhile, Satomi Murakami was currently holed up in her shed at four in the afternoon on a Saturday, taking a break from her coursework. In order to decompress, she had opted to run a few practice racks with a few smoke breaks littered in between before her phone chimed at the signal of a new text message. Perplexed, she checked her phone—nobody ever contacted her. Ever. Unless it was regarding the absence of a practice or a pool match, but even then those were few and far between. 

* * *

**Iwaizumi**

_Hey, you busy right now?_

* * *

Removing the white and turquoise, three fingered glove from her left hand so that she could type. 

* * *

**Murakami**

_Not really, just playing around on my pool table. What’s up?_

* * *

Three, moving bubbles danced across the left side of the screen, signifying that he was typing. 

* * *

**Iwaizumi**

_Do you think you could find time in your busy schedule to help me with the English assignment? I have no idea what I’m doing._

* * *

Satomi’s lips pressed together tightly in discontent, a swirl of emotion overtaking her. While she was pleased that someone was finally reaching out to her, rather than the other way around, it was, of course, to suit his needs. The thought teetered back and forth in her mind, long before the possibility of responding even presented itself. 

* * *

**Iwaizumi**

_Or just hang out, if you can. Some company that doesn’t revolve around volleyball would be nice._

* * *

The boy’s honest intentions spoke more to her than his initial question. Satomi knew, better than anyone, how essential it was to remove yourself from whatever was causing overwhelming feelings. And at the moment, she supposed to she could spare sometime to easing whatever had plagued Iwaizumi’s mind. She’d already finished nearly half of her assignments that she needed to—perhaps a change of scenery was not a bad idea. Already making up her mind, she exited her shed to change out of the lounge clothing she was sporting. 

Iwaizumi had sent directions to a coffee shop in downtown Sendai that he was not already too far from. Thankfully, in the lull of the evening, there were open tables for him to attempt to set up shop to work on schoolwork. When he had texted Murakami asking for help with his assignment, he was not necessarily lying. More so, he was distracted and bitter over how hard Oikawa had been pushing himself and their team and he needed to vent. Sure, he could have hung out with Hanamaki or Matsukawa, but something in him told him they were not the best confidantes. He wanted to avoid his team at this moment. Twenty minutes passed since his arrival, and Iwaizumi was so deep in concentration, he hadn’t noticed the brunette woman pull up a seat. “I thought you said no homework?” Hajime looked up, meeting eyes of Satomi Murakami. 

“I figured I may as well work on it.” She was sporting a big, albeit counterfeit, grin. Together, the pair walked towards the register closer to the entrance of the cafe to order their drinks to accompany their study session. Despite her teasing tone, Satomi also had her school bag with her, the width of the textbooks she had stretching out the tightness of the bag. “So is something eating at you? Or were you just trying to come up with different excuses to see me?” Satomi asked after they had received their beverages. The girl rested one elbow on the table between them, the molten lava in her eyes warming Iwaizumi’s chilly exterior. Yet there was something about the way she spoke and looked at him that just felt too familiar, too casual. Since he could not pinpoint it in the moment, he opted to let out a hefty sigh instead. 

“Oikawa has been drilling the shit out of us.” The spiky haired brunette ground out, burying his face in his hand. “And I get it. He really wants to go to spring nationals—we all do. But I keep telling him that he needs to take it easy before he gets injured.”

“So let him?” Iwaizumi looked at the brunette woman in a mixture of shock and disgust, prompting a roll of her eyes. “I’m just speaking from experience, but sometimes, you just gotta shatter your ankle.”

“ _What_?” 

“A few years ago, right after I started getting better at tumbling, I would always practice in my backyard. No spotters preventing me from hurting myself, no coach to guide me on how to fix my form. Just me and the grass.” Satomi pauses briefly, carefully choosing her next words to communicate in way that made sense to the boy across from her. “So I tried to start incorporating twists into my flips waaaay before I was ready to. I wasn’t giving myself enough height, so one of my attempts ended with me breaking my ankle from the way I landed.”

“That’s awful advice.” 

“Hey, it got my thick-headed self to calm down and stop overdoing it. I don’t know anything about Oikawa, but I get his process.” A moment of recognition struck Hajime in the most unpleasant way. 

“Oh my god, you’re Oikawa’s twin.” In mock horror, the boy buried his face in his hands once again, though this time, it was to stifle his laughter. How had he not recognized it sooner? Though not as cocky, maybe, her aura was almost a perfect mirror of the volleyball captain’s. Excelling in sports, academics, and charismatically charming to the public while coincidentally being fake, for lack of better term—they were two peas in a pod. 

“From the minimal contact I’ve made with him, I feel like I should be insulted.” Laughter bubbled between the two of them, easing the tension that threatened to arise in him. Realizing the similarities between the two captains should have made Iwaizumi run—as if he could handle another one. But despite this revelation, every fiber in his soul told him that was not necessarily the case. Sure, at face value their work ethics could be deemed as similar in terms of navigating their respective sports. There was something deeper than that about Satomi. She did not have Oikawa’s flippant or demeaning persona; she was much more genuine in her conversations despite her facial expressions holding a different meaning. “But, hey,” chimed the girl in front of him, causing Hajime to break his train of thought. “You said you wanted to get away from volleyball tonight, right? So no more VB talk while I’m here.”

“Alright, alright,” He concedes. “How did the rest of your match go on Thursday after you left?”

“We beat Oomisaki 8-1.” A true proud grin tugged at Satomi’s lips as she shared the victory, Iwaizumi congratulating her and her team. Now that the brief venting session had ended, the two of them began working on their class work with bits of not so small talk filled the gaps in between. Much to his surprise, he had actually completed the assignment he was struggling with thanks to Satomi. And, for once, she had felt like it was the only reason he invited her out; no hidden agendas rearing their ugly head. Truly, he really just needed someone to talk to, but otherwise did not need something from her explicitly other than her company. “Hey, next time you need to vent, you can just call me. You don’t have to use some fake guise to get me to break my schedule.” Some sound, a cross between a scoff and a laugh, left the boys lips. 

“Speaking of fake guises, you can drop yours, you know. I know we barely met less than a weak ago, but I can see you bullshitting over half the time.” 

“W-what?” 

“Tsk,” at this, Hajime closed his school textbook and stuffed it back into his rucksack before staring down the girl with his own olive-green eyes. “I’ve been dealing with loserkawa for years, my bullshit detector is unmatched at this point. So I guess what I’m saying is, if you want this friendship, just be you.” Satomi’s eyes narrowed slightly as she mimicked the boy’s posture—leaning on the back of the chair with her arms folded over her chest, crossing her legs over her knees at the same time. Perhaps a physical response to his verbalized psychoanalysis? She wasn’t sure. 

“Who said I want this friendship you speak of?”

“You wouldn’t have come tonight if you didn’t.” It was a rare occurrence for Satomi Murakami to actually be placed in a checkmate. But here she was, lost for words to form any sort of rebuttal because he was right. She’d been alone for far too long—even the one person she considered a friend had never made the effort to see her outside of cheer practice. When she offered no response, Iwaizumi stood up and extended a hand towards her to pull her from her seat. “Come on, they’re closing. Let me walk you home.”

“You don’t have to, I’ll be okay—“

“I’m either walking you home or I’m kicking your ass.” There was no fight left in Murakami at this point. No matter how many times she had tried to think of a witty comeback, she was no match for his sheer stubbornness. With their bags over their backs, the pair left the cafe, calling a word of thanks to the staff on duty. The cogs in her brain were still churning, mulling over what Iwaizumi had said about dropping her guise. It was not that she did not want to—she did. However, years of developing the ten-inch wall that barricaded her persona from her true self was not going to come down in a matter of minutes. Additionally, it seemed every time she tried to be more authentic, her true self was deemed to be too radical from the Satomi Murakami everyone else knew. In the end, knowing this, she would eventually show herself to people she did not wish to be around. An awful distancing tactic, but one she knew too well. One she used too often. 

One she was about to use. 

With that in mind, she reached into the lower right pocket of her cargo pants, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and lighter she had stowed away. “So dropping the facade, huh?” Iwaizumi looks over to his companion for the evening, noticing the seventeen-year-old girl beside him was holding a cancer stick between her full lips. It took him by surprise, obviously, considering she was still three years underage and did not even know how she procured them in the first place. Reading the question on his face, she responded with, “my parents roll their own. They don’t even realize I steal theirs.” It was uncomfortable, sure, and Hajime was now probably going to have to explain why he smelled of smoke, but she stood a lengthy distance away and made sure not to blow directly onto him. Otherwise, it was mesmerizing to watch the faint wisps billow around her. “There’s my big secret to how I manage all my stress.” She joked while he remained silent. 

“How?” Was all he could sputter out. How did this become your vice? Why? Weren’t you an athlete? Shouldn’t you be taking better care of yourself? So many other questions pummeled through his mind, but all he could muster was the only question he had verbalized. 

“Smashed ankles.” Satomi said thoughtful of the time she spent in her shed after being confined to a boot, taking a small puff before continuing. “Plus, seeing your dad smoke all the time when he was stressed and seeing your mom nonchalantly buy cigarettes in front of you kind of creates a culture where it’s acceptable.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can really pull me out of my head. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself anyway. Another part of me is probably just a glutton for punishment.” 

“That’s not what I’m asking, Murakami.” The pair had stopped walking off in the direction of her home with Iwaizumi grabbing whatever part of her that was within reach, which happened to be her backpack. Yanking her back to face him, he noticed the raw, slightly shameful look of having her hand in the metaphorical cookie jar before dinner. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the negative side effects, but as an athlete, a good athlete at that, I’m asking why you would make it harder on yourself.”

“Because literally nothing matters.” Satomi rips herself away from hold he had on her, not wanting to crumble under Iwaizumi’s intense gaze at the moment. Walking towards her home, she takes another drag of her cigarette, ignoring the fact that he was able to keep pace with her with only a few steps behind. 

“If nothing matters, quit.” A disgusted look crossed Satomi’s face, prompting her to turn around—a mistake on her part, she realized, as Iwaizumi ripped the half-smoked cigarette from her left hand and breaking off the rest of the filer. “I’m just trying to help you.” He spat out. 

“I don’t need your help; I didn’t ask for it.”

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology/Lingo:
> 
> Stunt groups: This definition will be in every chapter to serve as a reminder! Stunt groups in an all girls cheer team typically consists of 4-5 people. The center of every group is called a flyer or top girl, they are the ones who are lifted and perform tricks and stunts while in the air. Below are two bases and a back spot. Primary bases are on the flyer's right and are responsible for the direction of the flyer while holding their toe and heel in their hands. Secondary or side bases are on the flyer's left with their hands sandwiching the center space of their foot; they are the stability of the stunt group, as they carry most of the weight of the flyer. The back spot holds the back of the leg and ankle of the flyer when they are in the air. When coming down or catching, the back spot catches the flyers by linking their arms underneath the flyer's armpits.
> 
> Basket Tosses: A form of stunt that launches flyers into the air as opposed to being held by bases and the backspot. Bases create a platform with their hands by holding onto their right hand with their left with their right holding onto their partner's left wrist. The flyer stands on their hands and knuckles and is tossed usually 10-15ft in the air then caught in a cradle. If you can imagine shoes repeatedly digging into your hands, this stunt hurts especially when done repeatedly :-)
> 
> Caffe Veloce: A real cafe in Sendai! However, for the sake of fiction, is a coffee shop, bar, and pool hall. We have one of these here in Chicago, called Surge Coffee Bar.
> 
> Street Clothes: While this is self explanatory, as street clothes are normal clothes that hold no affiliation to the school, I wanted to emphasize it because students must make sure to maintain a "proper" image when representing their schools. Meaning that if Satomi was not in street clothes, she wouldn't be able to smoke while at pool league.
> 
> Playing Glove/Bridge Glove: A three fingered glove that goes over the shooter's bridging hand--the hand that is planted on the table when shooting. Sometimes are open fingered, sometimes closed. Mine has the thumb and index finger enclosed and the middle finger is open which is how I imagine Satomi's to be.
> 
> Put Up/Throw: Put up (first) refers to which team selects their player first. Throw is also the selection of a player.
> 
> Skill levels/SL(s): As mentioned, the skill levels range from 2-7. 2 is usually used for players are brand new to the game while 7's are master amateurs. They are typically 2-3 skill levels below professional pool players. 3s are the loose equivalent to leisurely players, 4s are typical bar hustlers. 5s and 6s vary.
> 
> Sand timer/Coach: Used during timeouts, as coaches are only allowed to coach for one minute. Coaches are used during gameplay when the shooter is unsure of a shot to take or how to execute a shot, or just needs help. Coaches can also be called by teammates, which is what Satomi did, even if the shooter does not call for help. In APA, 2s and 3s are allowed to receive two coaches per game, while everyone else can receive one. 
> 
> On the hill: Shooter needs to win one more game to take the match. Matches are determined by skill level and, as mentioned, are usually one less than the player's skill level unless playing a 2 or a 7 (which I won't get into those since we won't be talking about 2s or 7s).
> 
> Ranking system*: The ranking system, in the US anyway, has been proven time and time again to be sexist. In Vegas, males are not allowed to be 2s when competing in a NATIONAL tournament and are automatically bumped up to a 3, regardless of them being less skilled than a 3. Female skill levels are equal to males of one level higher. Meaning that if Satomi is a 4, her skills are closer to an average 5. While it may not be as severely sexist everywhere, this is definitely a thing.


	3. Guilt in a Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwa comes to watch Satomi cheer, they make up, while Oikawa begins to pick apart the budding relationship between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! Sorry this chapter is a little bit shorter compared to the others, but as I'm writing chapter four and five, it definitely gets longer. No pool terminology in this one so my AN will be much shorter. I know there are a lot of confusing cheerleading concepts in this story, but worry not, it won't last for long. Chapter title taken from the song "Keep This Up" by "The Story So Far". Bless you, Parker Cannon, for writing an album that inspired me. Also, happy Easter everyone! Hope everyone is staying safe in quarantine if they're in it, but safe overall during these scary times.
> 
> Warning: Mature language.

* * *

_“I don’t need your help; I didn’t ask for it.”_

Hajime Iwaizumi knew he should have stopped himself, knew that she should not have crossed the boundary. But he also knew that somewhere deep down inside, his intuition was right, and Satomi Murakami needed help in some way, shape, or form. However, nearly two weeks had passed, and she had completely avoided him all together. The following Monday after they had met up on the weekend, he had tried to greet her in the morning, only to be returned with an icy, absolute bullshit, fake hello of a greeting. After multiple attempts of trying to eat lunch with her, he had surrendered entirely, the two essentially going back to being strangers with history. 

Today was Wednesday September twenty-first, the next Saturday being the start of the Miyagi Spring Preliminary playoff tournament. The date drew closer and closer, but the passing days also signified the impending presence of the cheerleading competition season. Granted, the girls had a quite few more weeks before their premier, but weeks passed quickly on the precipice of perfection. On top of physically and mentally preparing her girls for the grueling season ahead of them, Satomi had to make sure the team they also knew their chants for the games they were to spectate. Even if some girls held little regard for the sideline aspect of their sport, it was a pride thing for Aoba Johsai. It was a pride thing for Satomi as well. 

This particular Wednesday happened to fall on a scheduled rugby match, meaning the cheerleading team had a slightly shortened practice to catch up on their course work followed by a brief warm up period before heading out to the field to do their job. Satomi had changed into her all white uniform, embellished with turquoise detailing as a stripe on the sides with the school kanji on her chest. The time was currently half past four in the afternoon, leaving her with thirty minutes to rally up her squad, stretch, and warm up. One by one, the team trickled in, fully suited up with hair tied in a much too high ponytail sporting a large, turquoise bow. 

There was no better sight for Satomi Murakami to see her team prim and proper, no matter how much the population of the school deemed them unnecessary. Hina, with her short blonde bob resting in a half up, half down hairdo, gathered the girls up to practice a couple stunts to minimize injuries on the field. Off on a nearby bench, was Yanagisawa-Sensei to oversee the club she sponsored and to call an athletic trainer if need be. Those who were not otherwise occupied with stunt practices needed to warm up jumps and tumbling before game time. Both rugby teams were on the sidelines, doing their huddle before meeting each other on center field. After a shake of their hands, the cheer team lined up in two rows of thirteen with Satomi in the center of the front row, Hina in center of the back. 

The time was six in the evening, when many of the other clubs practice ended. Not waiting around for Tooru Oikawa this evening, to shatter his ankle, so to speak, Hajime Iwaizumi began to head home, the grunting of the school rugby team filling the air a short distance away. Glancing over, a habit created from his observational skill that had only been amplified since the first time he had interacted with his classmate, his olive-green eyes were drawn to the twenty six ladies clad in white. Absentmindedly, he walked towards the field, separated by a tall chain link fence as he watched the power and strength coming from the girl’s as they chanted their support. The now familiar clusters were bound together in stunt, all six groups up with the center girl, the position Iwaizumi learned was called a flyer, yelling with traditional megaphones. “A-J-HS, one more time!” Finally, his eyes had found Satomi at the center of the groups, holding up her friend and vice-captain Hina Amakuza, by standing almost directly underneath her. The stunts all came down, but they were still chanting, creating a single file line. One by one, each girl threw a tumbling pass of varying degrees. Iwaizumi was unsure of what astounded him more, the fact that these girls were twisting and turning in the dirt with all white uniforms and no cares in the world, or how loud the audience was cheering back with them. 

“I thought you left.” Oikawa announces, seeing his friend marveling at the scene before him. “Oh come on, again?” 

“Shut up, ass hat.”

“Dare I even ask what you find so intriguing about them?” Oikawa presented his question in the form of a challenge. As if he already had a rebuttal long before Iwaizumi had an answer. 

“Just look at the audience.” Hajime says, prompting the setter to glance over. The Aoba Johsai rugby team was lining up for a field goal and as they did so, the cheer team held up turquoise poms, shaking them in their hands while facing their crowd. In unison, they were screaming as the kicker ran towards the ball. 

“Oooooooooooooolé!” The last syllable was accentuated when the ball landed between the goalposts, giving Seijoh a three point lead in the current term. Oikawa did not understand the fascination, and it was evident by the passive look on his face. 

“You just need to either ask her out or get over it.” The taller boy jeered. 

“It is _not_ about Murakami.” Hajime grit out. “I’m just saying. That promise we made, about beating Shiratorizawa? Add an entire stadium cheering for just us at the qualifier? At nationals?” Oikawa could not argue the appeal that his idea held. Maybe it would benefit his volleyball team just a bit more to hear the noise for them, rather than dozens of girls screaming his own name. He still wanted his own fan section but if Iwa was this excited at the thought of having a larger fan section, maybe it was something his team desired, as the vice-captain usually mediated between Oikawa and the team. As captain, he needed to do whatever it took to bring out the best in his team. 

“Come on, Iwa.” Oikawa began walking, though not in the direction the vice-captain thought he would be. Instead of heading home, the setter leads the ace into the field, paying for two tickets for the event and grabbing seats in the bleachers off to the left of the main cluster of fans. “I wanna feel this excitement that you’re feeling.” The two men sat quietly, their eyes flickering to the field where Aoba Johsai now only held a two point lead and back to how the cheer team responded during and after plays. 

“Go go go go, Seijoh!” Murakami’s uncharacteristically loud voice boomed, leading her team to follow the chant. All twenty-six women began to follow, their voices falling in sync with their captain. As they cheered, groups would cluster one by one, loading up for a toss. On a hidden rhythm, a toss would go up, the flyer launching a minimum of ten feet in the air before hitting a toe touch at the peak and snapping back to be caught by their bases. When it was Amakuza’s turn, her group, which included Murakami, was angled off to the side before being released into the air. Balling up slightly, Hina kicked her right leg up to perform a vertical split, the weight of her foot propelling her body to do two full twists before landing safely in the arms of her group. “Go go go go, Seijoh!” The crowd was screaming along now, following along with the squad. From their side of the bleachers, Oikawa observed in earnest—there were only forty seconds left on the clock; the crowd was far from silent, the girls had yet to stop moving, throwing flips and passes and stunts as if their lives depended on. 

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, had kept his eyes on Satomi. While it came to Oikawa as no surprise, considering he believed his friend’s infatuation was the driving force for his actions, the only thought that crossed Hajime’s mind was the first, true, genuine smile he had ever seen on Murakami’s face as she engaged with their spectators. The final buzzer sounded with Seijoh taking the win by five points.

The crowd had begun to dissipate moments later after the final buzz, save for the parents that were waiting to congratulate their children on their win. Iwaizumi had stood up as well, gathering his belongings despite Oikawa not moving from the bleachers. “Want me to give you two some privacy?” The ace gave a roll of his olive eyes, the implication not lost on him. 

“She doesn’t wanna see me right now.” His voice wavered with bitterness. 

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?” Oikawa was standing now with his bag slung over his shoulder, entirely prepared to force his best friend to at least acknowledge the object of his affections. It was what he did best—pull forth the desires of what people truly wanted, especially his friends, and remove any and all obstacles from stopping them. It was one of the many reasons that Oikawa was good at what he did both on and off the court.

“Fuck off, shittykawa.” Ignoring his friend’s objections, the volleyball captain made his way towards the chain link fence that separated the track from the spectators. A few of the first years on the cheer squad immediately noticed Oikawa, homing in on the tall second year and squealing as they did so. As he approached, Iwaizumi came to the sudden realization exactly what his friend was going to do and attempted to run as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. 

“Hey, Murakami!” Oikawa leaned over the chain link fence, one of his hands grabbing the collar of Iwaizumi’s shirt to prevent him from fleeing with a wicked grin on his face. If Iwa was going to drag him to watch a bunch of teenagers in skirts, the least he could is make him talk to the reason he was brought here in the first place. “You guys did great out there!” His award-winning smile rivaled a knock off designer handbag, alarms blaring in Iwaizumi’s head as he took note of it. At this point in his life, Hajime’s bullshit detector was fueled purely on instinct now and he was unable to turn it off even if he wanted to. The alarms presented themselves in the form of headaches that he was constantly frequenting.

_Is that what I sound like?_ Satomi wondered quietly, her own radar detecting the thick layer of artificial sugar in his voice. “Hey, thanks for coming out Oikawa, Iwaizumi.” _Yes_ , she added silently after the words left her lips, recounting what the latter had mentioned about dropping her facade. The two captains exchanged pleasantries and now that Oikawa had brought Satomi and his friend together, he had maneuvered further down the fence to connect with fans of his, leaving the two 2-5 students alone. At first, the silence was a little awkward, prompting the cheerleader to begin packing her belongings into her bag to fill the void.

“You, uh, really were great.” A cough rumbled in Iwaizumi’s chest, either out of necessity or discomfort, he was unsure. “I can’t wait to have you there during the prelims.” Satomi’s dry lips twitched slightly, feeling not only the sincere aura he was emanating, but how difficult it was for him to speak without a filter catching his words that sounded ridiculous to him. Had he used his verbal filter; he never would have admitted his last statement that only added to the density of the air. Of course this was uncomfortable, Satomi thought silently. They were not on the greatest terms at the moment, but it was clear that Iwaizumi was trying to extend the olive branch.

“You do mean all of us, right?” The boy nodded almost hesitantly. 

“Well yeah, but you...” Uncertainty clouded his judgment on whether or not he should continue. But much like the day he first saw Satomi Murakami at practice, he had to say _something_. And now knowing her as much as he did, which was not all that well, he bitterly admits to himself, he had to say it. “You lead your team, and you lead them well. They’re an extension of you, and it shows. So I stand by my statement: I can’t wait to have you there.” If the words took her by surprise, she was hiding it very well. Blank faced and looking at her hands that were now wrapped around the top of the fence, she found herself just barely above a whisper. 

“But are you saying that to me or this other version of me that you think I am?” Iwaizumi knits his brows together in confusion, unsure of the literal meaning of her question. From what he could discern, there was no other version of Satomi Murakami. She was hardworking, academically brilliant, and she loved what she did on the field and on the table. What other version did she mean? It was not as if he romanticized her in some way—he saw her for what she was, but apparently he had yet to make that clear to her.

“Let’s put it this way,” Hajime stands up straight, chest protruding slightly as he adjusts his posture to tower at his full five foot ten. “In the short time I’ve known you, I have never seen you look so genuinely happy.” Every syllable, every consonant soaks into her ear drums, effectively freezing her in place. She wanted to say something, anything, to refute Iwaizumi’s claim—as if it were a fallacy or a falsehood. But with every step he took away from her, she found her own words dying on her tongue. 

* * *

The following morning, Satomi Murakami sat at her seat with notebooks and textbooks littering the narrow space of her desk. With almost half of the week passed, she was furiously scribbling in notes, nearly burning the skin of her left hand that dragged along the paper. Thanks to the rugby match in the previous night, she did not quite have the chance to get ahead in what assignments she could tend to, which was inadvertently causing her to stress. 

With a few minutes left to spare before the start of home room, Iwaizumi immediately noticed his classmates zoning in on his once upon a time friend who seemed to be unaware of her surroundings as they all stared at the brunette woman. At the same time, she was muttering incoherently to herself. “Oi, Murakami!” The ace called out while approaching her seat, waving a calloused hand in front of the girl when she did not respond. “Idiot, you’re gonna burn a hole through the desk.” 

“Huh? Oh morning, Iwaizumi.” Robotic and monotonous was a new flavor of emotion of Satomi’s, one that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable for the aforementioned boy as she took a millisecond to look up at him. Upon further inspection, he noticed the usual, deep set bags under her eyes were nearly bruised from lack of sleep. “How are you today?” She was using that stupid, polite, customer service tone now, the one Iwaizumi despises almost as much as he hates the way his best friend talks to strangers as if he were a celebrity at a meet and greet event. Hajime was beginning to wonder if his judge in character was severely over flawed. 

“Did you not sleep last night or something?”

“I haven’t more than six hours slept in two days.” A breath sigh tainted with disappointment tainted his tongue. 

“ _Why_?”

“Homework, then the rugby game yesterday, I have pool tonight, then I have to spend every day getting ahead of next week’s homework, pool again, then it’s your tournament —“ Iwaizumi was unsure of what snapped in him, what prompted the sudden anger to boil in his chest. He could not stop words from tumbling out of his mouth, let alone the blood rushing to his face. 

“Skip pool tonight and go home. Get some sleep, idiot.” Satomi’s eyes narrowed, or drooped, rather in their sleepy, weakened state. Who was Hajime Iwaizumi to boss her around? They had barely been acquainted three weeks ago, did not even speak for two of those weeks! And now, here he stood, making demands of her, probably trying to help her on his own terms again. As she went to argue, just barely opening her lips, the boy before gripped the crown of her skull. He did not care if he messed up her already slightly matted hair, was in her personal space, or if she would be upset from the way he was handling her—he needed to get through to her. “You need to take care of yourself to take care of your team.” 

Though she said nothing, Satomi began clearing off her textbooks and notebooks, tucking them all away into her backpack while moving away from his grip on her head. With legs crossed over the knee, her left elbow resting on her desk, she turned to face Iwaizumi completely, giving her full, undivided attention. There was an indiscernible look on her face, one that reeked with an underlying anger. “And who are you, Hajime Iwaizumi, to tell me how to live my life? Are you trying to help me again?”

“I’m your friend, asshole.” The boy in question ground out, entirely fed up with her hard attitude. “And as your friend, it is my job to tell you when you’re being bullheaded—“

“I’m not—“ 

“ _Yes_ , you are.” Whether the pair had noticed that the entire class was staring at them, and they were, was not important. Though the students of class 2-5 were incredibly confused at the fact that Iwaizumi had just _grabbed_ a woman, let alone the top of their class; but again, not important. Right now, all that mattered, all that existed, was the two of them locked in their stare down. “Do you not trust your vice captains to handle things for you in your absence? Why did you pick them to be your second in command then?” The spiky haired boy clenched his fists tightly, the bones protruding white under the skin of his knuckles. This was beyond a conflict that was between the two of them now. If anything, his deep-seated desire and need for control and respect were beginning to be projected onto Satomi’s co-captains, while the anger that he assumed they held was being inflicted at the girl he was face to face with. Ever the peacekeeper, Iwaizumi felt it was his duty to bring justice to them.

“Does Oikawa trust you to handle things for him?”

“Don’t insult me, Murakami. And don’t insult Amakuza or Hiroaki, I’m sure they would be hurt.” Venom dripped from every letter. “He wouldn’t have chosen me if he didn’t. He chose me because I pick him up when he falls, when he isn’t at his best, when he needs to come back to reality—I keep him grounded. It’s what friends do, stupid.” As Satomi listened, she began to pick up on the subtle nuances that Hajime’s language and expressions were conveying. _Let me bring you with me_ , his olive eyes seemed to scream. It sparked a warmth in her lonely heart, a feeling she had neglected for years. 

“Oikawa is very lucky to have you, Iwa.” She said quietly, the taught skin of her cheeks relaxing ever so slightly. The boy could tell she meant it. 

“You’ve got me too, Satomi.” Finally being able to say what he has wanted to since their brief study session at the cafe, Iwaizumi walks to his desk on the opposite end of the room. The brunette woman sat, stunned with her limbs crossed over themselves in a useless defense position. Useless, considering this stupid, persistent classmate of hers had already taken a pickaxe to her walls and began chipping away at them. 

For the remainder of the school day, Satomi kept quiet, opting to work through her ever-piling collection of schoolwork on her lunch break. Even if Hajime had taken to his newfound lunch spot in the seat in front of Murakami, their conversation was kept minimal so as not to distract her too much. Despite telling her to take it easy, he also knew that just a verbal recommendation was not going to be necessarily effective in getting her to listen. If need be, he was not afraid to use physical force as he does with Oikawa. 

Coming to this realization, coupled with the silence between the two, brought Iwaizumi to a strange revelation. However similar his two friends were, and yes, he is very adamant on seeing Satomi as a friend, there was a distinction between them that could not be ignored: Oikawa’s driving force was a need for perfection, to be the absolute best, whereas Murakami’s driving force was a need to feel happiness that is long buried in her chest, which births her perfectionism. Coming to terms and accepting these facts, Iwaizumi, ever the pillar of support, felt it his mission to help people in any which way that he could. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to Oikawa, excluding the shared passion for volleyball. His determination was a light that drew Hajime right in like a moth to a flame, and that determination to spread that warmth fueled his need to help Murakami. A strange web he found himself tangled within. 

By the end of class time, Satomi Murakami approaches Iwaizumi’s desk, waiting for him to collect his belongings to walk together towards their respective club rooms. The first act of hers symbolizing the reciprocation of the olive branch. “Let’s wait for Oikawa too.” He says to her, opting to turn left rather than right to wait outside class 2-6. The volleyball captain did not hide his surprise or amusement seeing the two shorter brunettes awaiting him. 

“So it looks like you guys finally made up, huh?” Oikawa shifts his body to direct his attention towards the cheer captain. “Thank goodness, I thought poor little Iwa here was going to drive himself insane—“

“Shut up, shittykawa.” Spat out Iwaizumi, accompanied with a smack to the back of the taller boy’s head. 

“So violent.” He whines in rebuttal. 

“It’s just how he shows he cares, Oikawa.” Satomi joins in on the teasing, though both boys were caught in the crossfire as she tousled their fragile masculinity. “Don’t take offense to it.” 

“I’ll kick your ass, Satomi.” It was not his fault, Iwaizumi rationalizes, as he bites back to his classmate. Growing up on the premise of tough love and dealing with his dense, thick headed friend that walked to his right, only reinforced the habit. Despite his brusque words, the three of them shared laughter lighter than air.

“Uh oh, now he’s threatening me. That’s my cue to leave!” The girl of the trio flees, presumably in the direction of her club room to start her cheer practice. With it being Thursday, Satomi typically started her practice time fifteen minutes earlier, an agreement granted by her team, in order to leave fifteen minutes earlier, giving her ample time to make it to Caffe Veloce. Beside Iwaizumi, his captain lets out an obvious snicker as they watched her run. 

“Since when are you two on a first name basis?”

“We aren’t, asshat. She called me Iwa, too.” Was all he said before wandering off to change out of his school uniform, leaving Oikawa to ponder the information that had been laid out before him. Though he would never admit it out loud, Iwaizumi’s innate obsession with the girl was beginning to drive him a little crazy and he was unsure of the reason. Perhaps it was because all of Iwaizumi’s focus had shifted from volleyball to the girl, or maybe because his best friend was only physically present while being mentally absent. But the only possible solution that came to mind was to place blame on Satomi Murakami as she was the common denominator in his mind. 

Meanwhile, with forty-five minutes passing, the aforementioned seventeen-year-old girl was covered in a sheen of sweat, droplets running down her brows and onto her lashes. “Let’s run it again.” Despite being out of breath, Satomi lined back up in formation, earning her a groan from her team. Tired was an understatement for the Seijoh cheer squad. For the last near hour, the twenty-six women on the team had been trying to form together their pyramid for their competition routine. Many of them had bruises and tears on their arms, legs, and hands. “One more time, and we’ll take a break, I promise. If you can’t hit it when you’re tired at practice, you won’t be able to hit going full out.”

Satomi Murakami was a tough as nails captain. Always putting in one hundred percent effort, always pushing for more, yet always making sure her team felt heard—these were only a few reasons her team respected her. But it was times such as these that her team wanted to kill her, mostly due to exhaustion, but mainly because they knew she was right. Nobody liked the person that hit them with the bare bone’s truth. Also because of the insane choreography she presented to the team that was just beyond their capabilities, but she pushed for the challenge because she knew it was possible if they worked hard. 

Satomi loaded up Hina, her hands gripping her and her partners wrists to secure the basket toss they were to be throwing. When the idea was first presented to the third-year flyer, she almost punched the captain square in her nose.

_“I’m sorry, you want me to what?”_

_“We’re gonna throw you from behind the pyramid to the front then you’ll—“_

_“Are you fucking crazy?!”_ Hina bellowed, nearly turning red in the face. _“You want to throw me twenty feet in the air, not even straight into the air, forward! While doing a front flip over our team and getting caught by a different group?!”_

_“I mean that’s the gist of it, yeah.”_

While this altercation occurred a couple of weeks ago and Hina had a chance to practice it with as many team members around to make sure she did not hit the ground, the stunt itself still made her nauseous. Satomi started the count on five, giving her vice-captain four counts to prepare for the toss. _Do or die, literally_ , Hina thought. On the one count, Satomi and her group threw their flyer with all of their might, checking to make sure she was high enough to flip without hitting someone. When the coast was clear, they migrated between the other four groups present to get the pyramid up. 

After Amakuza was caught and safely in the hands of two more bases and a back spot, the back spot moved away for the transition. Hina did two backhand springs, the second one ending with the petite blonde landing safely in her original group’s arms. With Hina as the center brace, her and the two stunt groups on the edge of the pyramid rested at half-mast while the middle groups gave their contribution to the pyramid. Together, the Aoba Johsai cheer team stood strong and tall with their first successful attempt at their most challenging portion of their routine. “Amazing job, everybody! I knew we could do it! Go take five, you’ve definitely earned it.” Many of the girls scrambled for water, dehydration and exhaustion over taking them. A few of the girls, not to poke fun at anyone specifically, had opted to just lay on the field rather than grab their water bottles.

“You’re a nut job, ya know that Satomi?” Hina says from beside the brunette, causing the captain to laugh. 

“I prefer the term visionary.” They both gave a laugh at that before gulping down more of their sports drink. “Besides, that’s the worst part of the whole routine. It’s best to knock it out early.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Since it’s Thursday and you’ve got pool, do you just wanna call it a day? I’m sure the girls would love an ice bath right now.” Satomi agreed, dismissing her team early but hesitating at the thought of pool. Iwaizumi did say she should go home and rest today, maybe he was right. She was physically exhausted and, come tomorrow, she was not going to be able to lift her arms. Just this once, she thought, she was going to put herself before her team as she walked at an painstakingly slow pace back to the club room to grab her belongings. 

* * *

**Murakami**

_Hey guys, I’m not going to make it in tonight._

_Hiroaki-senpai is in charge, of course. Good luck and kick some ass!_

* * *

Satomi put her phone away, the unsettling feeling of guilt bubbling in her stomach as soon as she hit send and did not leave her until she fell asleep that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology/Lingo:
> 
> Stunt groups: This definition will be in every chapter to serve as a reminder! Stunt groups in an all girls cheer team typically consists of 4-5 people. The center of every group is called a flyer or top girl, they are the ones who are lifted and perform tricks and stunts while in the air. Below are two bases and a back spot. Primary bases are on the flyer's right and are responsible for the direction of the flyer while holding their toe and heel in their hands. Secondary or side bases are on the flyer's left with their hands sandwiching the center space of their foot; they are the stability of the stunt group, as they carry most of the weight of the flyer. The back spot holds the back of the leg and ankle of the flyer when they are in the air. When coming down or catching, the back spot catches the flyers by linking their arms underneath the flyer's armpits.
> 
> Basket Tosses: A form of stunt that launches flyers into the air as opposed to being held by bases and the backspot. Bases create a platform with their hands by holding onto their right hand with their left with their right holding onto their partner's left wrist. The flyer stands on their hands and knuckles and is tossed usually 10-15ft in the air then caught in a cradle. If you can imagine shoes repeatedly digging into your hands, this stunt hurts especially when done repeatedly :-). Doing basket tosses that involve the flyer moving from one group to another is incredibly dangerous and I'm also pretty sure it's illegal at the US high school level. But don't quote me on that, I've been retired from cheer for almost a decade.
> 
> Pyramid: Stunt groups that are connected either by holding arms or feet.
> 
> Braces: The outsides and the center of a pyramid. The flyers rest in a prep held up by their group and are the ones who hold up either feet or arms depending on the pyramid. In Satomi's, the outside braces are mostly holding feet while Hina holds arms.
> 
> Cheers and chants: I'm making it so that the cheers we hear in the mange and anime were originally introduced by the cheer team. There will be a few that are not cannon--those are actual cheers from my cheer days :-).


	4. Pull Me Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi and Satomi's first...date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo~
> 
> Sorry this update came a little later than I was anticipating. I woke up late then went straight to a funeral procession. Dang quarantine. Also I've learned I strongly dislike writing actual volleyball scenes, but I suppose it comes with the territory of never having played it competitively. Anyway, enjoy the slightly shorter chapter and the very very subtle fluff between SatoIwa. While we're at it, enjoy what is currently some platonic SatoKawa.

* * *

The days came and went quickly, with September leaving the calendar for one more year. Currently, it was Friday of the week following after Satomi Murakami had decided to skip her billiards club. Upon arrival to Caffe Veloce yesterday, she immediately and repeatedly apologized to her team. “Tomi-Kouhai, it’s fine. We won 6-3, we were fine.” Hiroaki had said to her, the words reminding her of what Iwaizumi had told her that morning. 

_“Do you not trust your vice-captains to handle things in your absence?”_

Of course she did, that was why she chose them specifically, but somewhere gnawing in the back of her brain told her to always be in attendance. Regardless, the time went on, allowing Satomi to come to terms with her decision. A more pressing matter at hand was today being the first day of the Spring National Preliminaries. Due to the start time and duration of the tournament, Satomi decided against having practice that evening, giving the Aoba Johsai cheer team one solid hour to have a snack, run home if need be, or cram in some homework in her case. Already sporting her white uniform, Murakami sat in the bleachers of the Sendai City Gymnasium to stay on top of her course load, considering the tournament was going to, hopefully, last three days. “You’re here early.” An airy voice lilts, catching the cheer captain’s attention. 

“Could say the same for you, idiot.” Murakami jokes, waving loosely to Toru Oikawa as he enters the gymnasium. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“On their way in. I just wanted to take a look and see the gym before everyone got here.” The six-foot volleyball captain walked towards her, his footsteps reverberating audibly throughout the empty gym. “Where’s the rest of yours?”

“They’re on their way. I gave them mercy and gave them the day off practice.” Satomi closed the textbook she had open, as well as her notebook filled with copious amounts of scribbles of tiny notes before placing them neatly back in her book bag. Oikawa took the invitation to sit where her work once did. Lately, the two of them had been civil. Not that they were hostile before, but the air and aura around the setter had changed, so much so that Satomi could tolerate his presence in short bouts of time. She assumed that credit was due to Iwaizumi for the civility. Had it not been for their mutual friend and knowing just how important Oikawa was to the ace, not that Iwa would ever be caught dead verbally admitting that out loud, she thought to treat Oikawa with some kind of respect and affection. Unfortunately for him, her and Iwaizumi were one in the same to show they cared through teasing, insults, or on the rare occurrence, violence. “So, you excited for today?”

“Of course. I can’t wait to crush Shiratorizawa this year.” The devilish grin on his face was accompanied by a fire in his eye that was all too familiar to Satomi. He could feel it, throbbing in every muscle in his body—he knew this was their year to _finally_ fulfill his and Iwa’s middle school promise. Today, it was his only focus. Despite attempting to further investigate this whole Satomi-Iwa situation, that would have to take the back burner this weekend. He didn’t have time to focus on anything other than ensuring today went perfectly. 

“Kick some ass, cap.” She gives a nod in farewell as Oikawa stands up to leave, off rallying his team, she presumed. Moments later, her own team began to arrive with duffel bags slung over their shoulders holding their street shoes and poms. Hina, as always, is the first one of the team in besides Satomi, carrying a large, rolled up rig of tarp. “Oooh, what’s that?” The captain asks as the blonde sets it down right on the railing that separates the bleachers from the court. 

“Something I brought for the boys.” The blonde third year rolls out the turquoise tarp, revealing a banner with “Rule the court” written in white kanji. For a moment, the brunette’s breath stopped in her lungs at the sight, a short-lived sense of pride swelling in her chest.

“That’s beautiful, Hina. I’m sure the boys will love it.” Satomi begins helping her vice-captain tie the banner to the bannister in front of the bleachers while going over a formation plan. The two had agreed on splitting up the squad into three teams of eight to make sure the stands looked filled up, with the two remaining team members flanking the center. Both the volleyball club and the cheer squad began trickling into their respective areas—the girls separating into their respective sections and Oikawa running warm up drills with his own team until their opponent stepped into the court. Kakugawa High lined up single file, mirroring Seijoh to thank them for the game the to be played while spectators began pouring in by the masses. It should have surprised Satomi, the sheer volume of people collecting for a mere boys’ volleyball tournament but, knowing they were in the top four of the prefecture had to pull some sort of influence in their presence. 

Captain Toru Oikawa was first up to serve, as was expected of Aoba Johsai. After dribbling the ball at his feet a few times, Oikawa threw the ball up, running towards it to perform his staple jump serve. “Ooooooooolé!” Similar to a field goal during rugby, the cheer team called their one-word chant, making sure to emphasize the last vowel when the captain’s hand struck the ball. It was suggested by a first year and, seeing the reaction from the boys’ volleyball team sitting on the bench, Satomi could tell it had been a pleasant addition. She would have to thank the unnamed first year after this, she mentally added. 

Kakugawa was having trouble keeping up with Seijoh, as they had taken the first set by a landslide with the scoreboard at 25-14. The boys were barely breaking a sweat but with the start of the new set, they knew better than to take it easy now. _We have to keep going until we get to them_ , was repeated running through Oikawa’s mind. He could not feel the sweat staining his uniform, the dehydration parching his throat, or the throbbing ache of his muscles at this point. Winning was the only thing on his mind, even as he set Iwaizumi up to take match point. 

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to serve and while the stakes were high, he had looked as tranquil as a still river. One more time, the girls gave their chant, building the drama for the crowd with the enunciated “O”. Kakugawa received his serve, thanks to their libero, before setting up for a quick attack. Hastily, Hajime weaves his way to the front to stand beside his captain, performing a two-man block against their opponent. “One touch!” Oikawa calls out, their back-row men lunging to keep the ball in play. Their own libero sets the ball, allowing the Seijoh ace to land the last shot giving them the set. 

“Did he just...” could be heard from one of the spectators in the silent auditorium. A long whistle blows, signaling the end of the set—the victory going to Aoba Johsai. 

“YEAH!” Every single person with a capable voice erupted with a volume that could have shattered the lights in the bleachers. Satomi’s team stood in full, screaming and waving their pom poms with some even holding traditional megaphones that they used for other events. “Go go go go, Seijoh!” Hina had started the chant that soon had the crowd going with to help the boys bask and celebrate their victory while they gave thanks to Kakugawa. The cheering died down when the boys lined up to their spectators, thanking cheerleader and audience alike, though it seemed Iwaizumi only had eyes for one. Not ignoring his gaze, Satomi looked at the ace with soft eyes, her grin pushing her cheeks upward slightly. 

“Proud of you.” She mouths with no words leaving her lips before rallying up her squad. “Great job today, ladies. Remember, the first match starts tomorrow at nine in the morning, please make sure you’re here by eight-thirty.” 

“Yes ma’am!” Satomi bids each of them farewell, ensuring that each member of her team was recognized for their efforts before gathering her own belongings and stealthily changing into street clothes without showing an inch of intimate skin or having the need of privacy. The bleachers were empty now save for her, and one other person who had just entered the bleachers to join her. Hajime Iwaizumi, now sporting street clothes as well, makes his appearance be known as he approaches his friend. 

“Congratulations, Mr. Ace.” The brunette woman teases when she notices him. Even in the dim lighting, the man in question felt as if his cheeks were evidently as red as his internal temperature was warm. As he had previously suspected, having an authentic cheer squad had impacted his gameplay and focus—like they knew exactly when the team was starting to get too tired, when _he_ was starting to get too tired. Even if they had dominated the first round, Iwaizumi and his teammates had put everything they had into shutting the match down quickly. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” He responds genuinely, though a playful scoff left her lips as she rolled her eyes. Before she could counterattack, Iwa held out an arm to her, signaling the gesture to take her book bag and duffel bag for her. At first, she just looked at him confused before he physically took them both from her hands and strapped them over his broad shoulders. His phone chimed a rapid succession of dings, alerting him to check his texts. “One sec...”  
  


* * *

**Shittykawa**

_Yo, Momoka and I are getting ice cream to celebrate~ You and Murakami wanna join?_

_And I know you’re with her._

* * *

The second message from Oikawa came with a slight delay that made the ace roll his olive irises into the back of his skull out of annoyance. “Hey, the asshat wants to know if we wanna go get ice cream with him.”

“Wow, he actually extended an invitation? Why does he strike me as the person that just tags along or drags people with?” Iwaizumi gives a smirk but holds back a laugh. Minimal contact and Satomi had already had one major component of Oikawa figured out. 

“Sorry, you’re right. His shittiness demands our presence.” The obvious mockery painting his words. Once more, Hajime extends an arm out to the cheer captain, despite carrying all her bags. When she stared at it in confusion once again, the boy gave another roll of his eyes before grabbing her own dainty arm and wrapping his around it. Together, the two class 2-5 students exited the Sendai City Gym, arm in arm, while the ace recounted memorable moments from the evening in excruciating detail—just as Satomi did when he attended her pool match. 

“So, let me get this straight. We’re meeting up with Oikawa, even though you constantly tell me how shitty he kind of is?” Iwaizumi lets out a laugh, along with temporarily bringing his walls down. Though their estranged friendship was evident to the student body of Aoba Johsai, no one really knew why they were close friends except for the fact that they had been playing volleyball together since elementary school. The ace got away with saying things to the setter that nobody else could, and the setter knew exactly how to light a fire under Hajime. 

“I know he’s an asshole, but he’s my best friend.”

“But _why_ , is my question.” Iwaizumi pursed his lips from beside her, head tilting back in thought as they made their way to crepe shoppe. 

“I don’t know how to describe it.” Satomi gives him a moment to articulate his words in a way that would properly convey his message. “Toru’s not really the way he acts. He...he’s never going to let anybody get in his way, not even himself. He’s cautious and methodical and he always has a plan, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Like he knows some hidden secret to make it to the top even if your path is different; he knows how to bring you along so that you can be at the top with him.” The girl listened carefully to each and every letter that the ace spoke of. It was unimaginable, considering how little she knew of Oikawa, but made sense in regards to why someone like Iwa would stick around. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a dick about it. He knows how to draw out the best because he knows how to pick apart your weaknesses.”

“So what does he bring out in you?” It was a serious question, one that Iwaizumi was not prepared for at all. Some days, even he did not know the answer. Then there were some days where Oikawa brought out the ace’s own leadership abilities—to take charge and be the leader even if the captain was the one calling the shots. Other times, he brought out absolute trust in Iwa. Most importantly, Oikawa, somehow, brought out Iwaizumi’s responsibility and almost parental instinct in the ace, so as to counteract the setter’s childish antics. Someone had to keep his ass in check and, unfortunately, Iwaizumi has been involuntarily assigned the role. 

“He makes me, _me_.” Before Satomi could ask further inquiries, Hajime opened the door to the crepe shoppe for her and waited for him to pass through the threshold before searching the boy they were previously speaking of. “Any particular flavor for you?” He asks, ignoring the curious glances of his best friend. Probably due to the lack of distance between him and the cheer captain, no doubt. The pair approached the counter, Hajime gesturing towards Satomi to signal her to order. 

“Banana chocolate, please.”

“And one pistachio, please.” Completing the transaction and leaving a tip, he placed a gentle hand on her back to lead her to the corner where Oikawa and his girlfriend, Momoka Kano, were sitting. “Hey, Kano. Nice to see you again.” It was rude to say this came as a surprise to Satomi, but she never realized how polite and chivalrous Iwaizumi could actually be when curses and swears were not leaving his lips. “Shithead.” He says, in greeting to Oikawa. Ah. She spoke too soon.

“Hey, Murakami, tell yourself boyfriend to stop being mean to me!” The setter whines to brunette woman, to the amusement of his own significant other. Beside him, the petite raven-haired girl from class 2-2 stifled a chuckle. 

“My boyfriend? Wow, crazy. I wonder who it is.” There was a different way Satomi’s sentence could have been taken. Kano’s interpretation was the cheer captain was teasing the boy she arrived with by playing coy. The girl in question herself intended for it to be an indication that she does not have a boyfriend, and that she was meeting him for the first time—a joke in poor taste on her part. Iwaizumi, though he would never admit it, felt slightly insulted for reasons unbeknownst to him for Satomi not considering him as a potential partner. Meanwhile, Oikawa took it in the same way his friend did, though instead of feeling insulted, the volleyball captain could not contain his raucous laughter. 

“HA! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, right, Iwa?” 

“Fuck off, shittykawa.” Hajime grumbled out, standing up to grab his and Satomi’s crepes. 

“You’re horrible, Oikawa.” Murakami snips out, thanking the poor, humiliated boy for her treat. As the words left her lips, she thought back to the conversation she and her friend had on the way to their current location. Even after his explanation, she could not fathom just how the two boys were friends. 

“So when did you start dating Iwaizumi?” Kano asks, her dainty hand cradling her cheek with her pinky curling ever so slightly over the apples of her rose dusted cheeks. 

“We’re not dating.” He says with a roll of his eyes with a faint bitter aftertaste burning his tongue, only to cool it down with his pistachio ice cream.

“Aw, that’s a shame. You would be cute together.” Oikawa’s girlfriend gave a pout. “Sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself, Murakami. I’m Momoka Kano, from class 2.” The raven-haired girl extended a hand to the brunette who shook her hand back in greeting. Strange, Satomi thought while doing so. Kano seemed to be genuinely sweet, polite, and almost romantic. Her soft, ink black locks fell just past her shoulders in large barreled waves, framing her heart shaped face in addition to long lashes contributing to the effort that was her beauty. Physically, she was stunning with only Toru Oikawa serving as competition, but her charm was more than just appearance—she seemed very delicate and soft-spoken, while simultaneously being charismatic. She was a total knockout. 

“Aye, Oikawa. How’d you land this one? She’s way out of your league.” Satomi all but sneers to him as she speaks. 

“How rude, Murakami. Iwa’s rubbing off on you already.” 

“He doesn’t need to for me to call out facts, Oikawa.” Satomi was laughing heartily, the boy on her right trying to hide his own laughter by putting his head down on the table between them. Internally, the setter was glad his girlfriend said something about the two of them dating—she catalyzed this strange behavior that Iwaizumi was emitting, and he had a chance to collect his data for his research. 

On the one hand, it was almost painful to watch. For the entirety of their outing, Iwa could not keep his eyes off of her. Their body language that had been awkward and uncomfortable all those weeks ago had now morphed into one of familiarity with shoulder bumps and lingering touches. But Oikawa was not easily fooled when it came to his observations—he knew that Iwaizumi had been the one initiating all forms of contact with her. And while Satomi did not necessarily fight him off, she never made the motion to return the favor. Iwa was laying himself bare, showing that he cares about her and maybe would like to take a step forward, whereas it seems Satomi is potentially oblivious to the fact. Either that, or she was not interested. Piecing together his observations, including the way the cheer captain responded to the teasing, Toru Oikawa finally began to make sense of the irritating pangs his gut had been telling him all those weeks ago when Murakami was the subject at hand. It had nothing to do with the fact that Iwaizumi had a gargantuan crush on her; it was the fact that it almost seemed as if she knew it and refused to acknowledge it because she did not feel the same. For his best friend’s sake, he hoped he was wrong for once. it was almost painful to watch because, based on his intuition at this point, Oikawa knew that his best friend was going to have his heart shattered by this girl one way or another. “We should probably go, Momoka. I still gotta walk you home and I gotta be up bright and early!” The taller boy of the group stood up, cleaning up after him and his girlfriend before grabbing her hand. “See ya both tomorrow.” The captain calls out as the two of them exit, waving as he does so.

“I suppose we should do the same.” Hajime says, standing up to place both of their belongings over his shoulder again while Satomi cleared off the table and tossed out their wrappers. Thanking the vendors, the pair left the shoppe and began their walk home. At first it started in uncomfortable silence, Satomi itching to scratch her need for nicotine and Iwa mulling over the outing that had just taken place. 

“Can I?” She asks quietly, holding up her half full pack of cigarettes. “Or are you gonna break it again?” The boy rolled his eyes, quickening his pace slightly to get ahead of Satomi so that the lingering dust of secondhand smoke did not stain his clothes and all he was carrying. Taking his silence as a sign of approval, she lights the cigarette between her lips, the crackling sound of her lighter filling the void. Every inhale she took rotted against Iwaizumi’s inner peace. _It’s not my place_ , he would rationalize internally every time he came around and she smelled of tar and wood. But it killed him either way. 

Satomi opted for staying quiet for the duration of the walk home, as it felt too awkward for her to be holding a conversation with someone that was paces ahead of her. In a sense, it almost made her feel guilty and that maybe Iwaizumi was right about her. Suddenly the already bitter taste in her mouth turned sour and the walk seemed to be taking far too long her liking. 

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi has stolen little glances her way, watching her face contort in distaste despite the lack of conversation. She was thinking. Even with her cigarette still nearly full, she rubbed the cherry along the sidewalk before finding a bin to toss it in. “All done?” He asks, surprised. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly in return before giving a smile more delicate than the streetlights above them. “I uh, don’t feel so good.” Hajime’s once relaxed grimace tightened, unable to detect a lie but not entirely believing her. For a moment, he stopped walking and held a hand out to her, causing her to stare in confusion. 

“Just take my stupid hand, Satomi.” She was unsure of why she was ever hesitant about doing so in the first place. The moment her fingers interlocked with his calloused ones, any all traces of uncertainty of the situation had left her. 

“Maybe you’re right, Iwa.” The girl muses, giving the seemingly steady boy’s hand a squeeze. Inside, he hoped she could not feel him trembling over the fact he had asked for her hand or the desire to do so the few times he had walked her home. Verbally, he replied with a confused hum. “Maybe I should quit.” A fragile smile touched his lips as warmth filled his chest but said nothing. Neither of them said anything for the remainder of their walk until peacefully parting ways for the evening with the promise of tomorrow. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man oh man. I hate everything I plan on doing to Iwaizumi. Also, no terminology for this chapter since there everything is pretty straight forward. And obviously, I have no idea who the previous third years were when our Seijoh boys were in their second, so we're gonna pretend they dont exist. Cool? Cool.


	5. Tried and True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the tournament leads to Oikawa's injury and a brief, one-on-one interaction between him and Satomi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Growing on You" by The Story So Far. Enjoy some more SatoKawa with tiny bits of SatoIwa sprinkled in.

* * *

Satomi Murakami was _not_ a morning person. Sure, she typically attended her Saturday classes meaning the fact that she was awake at seven in the morning was not atypical. But coming in full cheer uniform, hair, and full makeup this early in the year and day was throwing her off. Typically, she only ever had to do this in the morning for competition season and, with that not starting for another three weeks, the entirety of her internal clock was out of sync. The girls had agreed to meet up at the gym at eight thirty to give them a brief warm up period. Nets were already set up in the space, giving the girls slightly limited work room. “Alright ladies, just warm up a few passes, preferably your competition passes.” The cheer team lines up single file, with Satomi and Hina at the end. 

“You’re already here?” The boys’ volleyball club is standing at the doorway with captain and vice-captain heading the group. Iwaizumi asked the question, staring at his classmate in a cross between confusion and bemusement, as if wondering if there were any limitations to her dedication. Satomi just gave him a wave before following the progressing line. 

“What do you guys need to warm up for, Murakami? Aren’t you all sitting in bleachers today?” Oikawa’s questions earned him a resonating smack on the back by his best friend, followed by a snicker from the other second year team members. 

“Just because we’re wasting time here, doesn’t mean we aren’t going to use every second we’ve got, shittykawa.” Responds the cheer captain before turning away to take her turn in line. The second years—Matsukawa and Hanamaki specifically, could no longer stifle their snickers. It was not often they got to see someone squaring up to verbally assault their captain, especially when that someone was not Iwaizumi. 

“Let’s go, Oikawa. We can use the other side of the gym, it’s not that big of a deal.” The rest of the team took the vice captain’s word and began working on serves, though Oikawa had remained still as he watched Satomi complete her pass. His best friend beside him followed the taller man’s gaze, catching just the tail end of his classmate’s feet landing on the floor with a district crack of either her ankle or her knee—to which the boy was unsure. “Let’s go, you piece of crap.” Iwaizumi repeated, grabbing whatever centimeter of fabric that he could to drag Oikawa away, attempting to quell his desire to stay and watch too. He needed to focus today. Hell, they _all_ did. But Tooru Oikawa would never be able to make good on his middle school promise if he could not get his head out of his ass and Iwaizumi would never let himself live it down if his friend was the reason for their downfall. 

“We’re done anyway.” Satomi announced after she dismissed her team to the bleachers. “Good luck guys!” She called out after running towards her team. With only five minutes to match time, the audience was pouring in with the other athletes that had come to spectate sporting their white and turquoise track suits. Resuming their seating arrangement from yesterday, the girls were seated with their poms in their hands, mirroring the anxiety of crowd for the long day ahead of them. 

The bleachers on the other side filled rather quickly, patrons adorned in purple and white as Shiratorizawa fans flooded in. There was one thing that both the Seijoh volleyball team and cheer team had in common—they _hated_ Shiratorizawa. While their cheer squad did not hold the same bragging rights as their volleyball team in terms of going to nationals, Shiratorizawa High School has represented the Miyagi prefecture in regionals for the last six years with Aoba Johsai falling short from a simple deduction every time. This year, Satomi and her team were determined to break the chain. 

After thanking each other and shaking hands and a few more minutes of warm up time, the respective teams lined up their starters with Oikawa’s serve first. “Ooooooooolé!” The cheerleaders ruffled their poms as Oikawa ran for his jump serve, the crowd cheering along this time. Shiratorizawa was able to receive his serve despite the sheer force that the tall captain used in hopes of landing a service ace. With a cross court shot from the opponents, the first point of the first set went to Shiratorizawa with their rambunctiously large fan section erupting in chant. Hearing the repetitive almost pun of “cheer-itorizawa”—whether they were actually saying that or the name of the school, Satomi was unsure—made her want to rub sandpaper in her ears. “Go go go go Seijoh!” She called out in hopes her own team could overpower the nuisance that was their rival squad. Due to distance and proximity, it ended up working out rather nicely as the athlete and audience alike joined into the chant as well. "Go go go go, Seijoh!"

Shiratorizawa was, unfortunately, able to start off the first set with a four-point lead. But with some gracious work from Hanamaki, Seijoh was able to take back the offensive lead to try to catch up. Iwaizumi was able to give a service ace on his first serve, with Shiratorizawa receiving the second one. Despite the opponents using a setter dump in an attempt to take back the ball, Oikawa saved themselves by keeping it in the air with sloppy use of his left hand. Matsukawa was, somehow, able to get the ball back in the air, high enough for Hanamaki to shake off their defense. “Hold that line, defense don’t let ‘em through!” Even with their heads in the game, the rumbling thunder that was the Seijoh cheer team’s voice penetrated the boys’ concentration in a way that drove their desire for success even further. 

As it stood, Seijoh was currently at match point with Oikawa up to serve. While he was going for another service ace, Shiratorizawa was once again able to receive it. Bump, set, spike—it should have been a deuce, but thanks to Kyoutani, the ball was still in the air. It traveled just a little too far back over Oikawa’s head, forcing the setter to thrust himself backwards to set Iwaizumi for the kill. With fire in his eyes, there was nothing stopping the ace from taking the set. However, there was no cheering, no applause for the man as the volleyball smashed into the court as he held his arms up in victory. It was all eyes on Tooru. All eyes on the Aoba Johsai captain laying limp on the floor as if his body could no longer move. “Oikawa!” Hajime runs to his best friend’s side, crouching down immediately while Coach Mizuguchi flocked over with the rest of the team; Coach Irihata remained one the side in attempts to call an athletic trainer from their over to the second gym, but was receiving no response. “What’s wrong, Oikawa? What happened?” Iwaizumi demanded while making sure not to touch his friend. 

“M-my knee. Fuck, it’s hurts so much Iwa.”

“Fuck, you idiot!” He snarled back, though the distraught on his face was clearly of worry. Without a moment’s hesitation, Satomi addresses her vice captain to take over, simultaneously pulling out her phone to dial a number she had all but memorized as she maneuvered her way over to the incident as quickly as she could. 

“Morning, Ueda-Senpai.” She chirped politely, hearing the middle-aged athletic training director sputtering out his concerns. 

“Murakami? Why are you calling on the weekend? Don’t tell me you snuck—“ Satomi cut him off, trying to focus on the matter at hand. She had arrived onto the court despite the vehement advisories against it by referees, her phone still pressed to her cheek while her free hand was placed on Iwaizumi’s back. 

“No no, not me this time. Could you send us a trainer ASAP to the second gym?” Ueda responded affirmatively before hanging up the phone, leaving the rest of them to wait patiently. 

“Do I even want to know why you have the Sendai City Gymnasium’s athletic training director’s number in your phone?” Iwaizumi deadpanned, nearly forgetting his best friend was laying in quaking amounts of pain. Nearly, only due to Oikawa’s persistent moans and groans would not allow anyone to forget he was there. Satomi only shrugged in response before finally addressing the captain. 

“Hey, do you think you can move any part of your body right now?”

“I have no fucking clue, Murakami. Why the hell are you even down here?!” The girl in question rolled her eyes, knowing that his attitude was more than likely a reflection of his pain. Despite the sharp bite in his words, Oikawa was moving at a snail’s pace to turn his torso, resting, and putting as much weight as possible in the palms of his hands. “Iwa,” the setter grits out through clenched teeth. “It’s all you now. I trust you.”

“I’ve got you.” Were it not for the predicament he was in, Satomi might have teared up seeing the raw, real moment between them. Iwaizumi, fully understanding the message beneath the brevity of his best friend’s words, rallied up the team to shut out this match, leaving the two captains with Ueda. 

“Murakami,” the man greeted as he approached the scene, a delicate makeshift, foldable stretcher that required two people to carry it in his hands. Ueda was glad to see his intuition had been correct when he had thought he would need it. “Glad to say it’s been a couple years since I last saw you. What’s going on?”

“My knee popped w-when I landed,” Oikawa was grinding each syllable finer than espresso at this point, just to fight every urge in him to scream. “Shit it hurts so bad right now.” Ueda began laying out the stretcher, gesturing for Satomi to help. 

“Where are all your actual trainers? You expect me to do the heavy lifting?” She teased while helping place Oikawa on the durable fabric. 

“After all the times I helped you during open gym sessions? Please, you owe me. Besides, they’ve got their hands full.” After getting the tall captain laid out, Ueda and Satomi, carrying the stretcher to ensure they did not cause Oikawa more pain in his leg, waded their way cautiously towards the office before setting the setter down on a stable surface for inspection. “I’m gonna go get him some ice for the swelling while I try to phone the local hospital. Keep your friend distracted.” An impossible task, it felt like. While Satomi knew that it would be better for the patient to focus on something other than the excruciating pain they were feeling, she had no idea how to do that with Oikawa. 

“I came down because I saw your coach wasn’t having any luck getting a hold of the office, meaning all the trainers were occupied.” She said finally, in response to Oikawa’s earlier, long forgotten question. “And as you can tell, Ueda-senpai and I are quite familiar with each other.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Satomi tilted her head to the side, though Oikawa could not see it from where he laid, staring at the stark white ceiling on the cushy examination table. The cheer captain, on the other hand, was sitting in a spare chair to his right, closest to the door and the storage cabinets and far far away from the setter. “We aren’t friends, Murakami. There was no reason for you to abandon your team for me.” Oikawa had no intention of hiding the obvious conceit in his voice; rather he was using it as a weapon, wording it in a way that showed that maybe her the passion she thought she felt for her sport was not almighty as Iwaizumi made it out to be. 

“A cheerleader’s job, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, is more than just school spirit. It is compassion and pride that the school and the sport boasts that we must echo.” The brunette woman had her arms folded over her chest in defense as she rose from her seat, taking a step with every few words as added emphasis until she stood over Tooru Oikawa with lava in her eyes. “Had I left you there, that would have reflected worse on our school, my sport, and my team.”

“Ah, so your reasons were selfish?” A snort left her sinuses in disbelief—had he really cracked a joke despite not being in the position to do so? Apparently. 

“I did it for Iwa, mostly.” Satomi says quietly, the once molten lava cooling down into the plates that made up her brown eyes. The moment she saw Iwaizumi’s heart crack in his chest as he looked at his best friend, she made sense of what he had told her the previous night. It did not matter that he could not verbally explain the bond between the two of them, she saw supernovas and black holes emerge between them in less than thirty seconds. She saw a star being reborn from the ashes left behind the moment Oikawa surrendered control to his second in command, then every word Hajime has ever spoken of the captain just seemed to make sense to her. “You’re important to him, so I guess that makes you important to me.”

“And why is little Iwa so important to you?” Oikawa never thought he would get his moment to interrogate Satomi so soon. However, he also never anticipated the entirety of the last forty minutes of his life being a reality yet here he was, laying with an injury while talking to the object of his best friend’s affections. “He doesn’t seem to matter to you at all.” He pressed, gauging her reaction. 

“And why’s that, Oiks?” At the new nickname, he furrowed his brows at her in a cross between disgust and confusion as he stared down, or rather up, to the cheer captain. “I feel bad calling you assikawa or shittykawa cause you’re in pain.” Had he not been ready to tear his own leg off, Tooru Oikawa would have laughed. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart, Kamisato?” 

“I really don’t think that’s any shorter than my actual name, Oiks.”

“Quiet, Panic.” Oikawa had his snippy remarks launch so quickly, it stunned her. Was he not in as much pain as he was earlier? Or had their conversation truly distracted him from the softball sized swelling of blood pooling around his knee. Genuinely, she hoped it was the latter. “Why is Hajime Iwaizumi important to you?” The setter asks again. Satomi breaks eye contact, looking around the entryway at the sound of the knob opening. 

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Ueda announces, feeling the thick air of nerves and uncertainty swiling between the two students. “Here’s some ice for you, and an ambulance should arrive shortly so they can take you to the hospital to do some tests. There’s only so much we can do here.” The middle-aged man left the room once again, lips pursed, and eyes widened slightly to reflect the awkward situation he was leaving the two teens in. He did not get paid enough to deal with drama on top of trauma. Satomi waved off the director before returning her uncertain gaze to the pained volleyball captain. 

“He’s the first person to try to befriend me.” Satomi said quietly, blindly reaching in the dark depths to figure out how to word her answer. “My friendships usually don’t extend past the walls of Seijoh. Just because it’s not apparent to you, doesn’t mean he doesn’t matter to me.” Oikawa, despite his awkward position laying down while Satomi iced the lower part of his swollen knee, bobbed his head in affirmation. Her last sentence was all he needed for his stamp of approval. 

“Alright, Panic. Guess you’ve earned my respect. For now.”

“How the _hell_ did you come up with the name Panic?” 

“Kami, from your last name, Sato from your first name equals Kamisato, which sounds eerily close to Panic! At the Disco’s best song off of the album ‘A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out’, Camisado.” With her mouth hung open slightly, Satomi just stared. She knew for a fact, that Tooru Oikawa was, by all intents and purposes, just as smart as her, if not _smarter_. While she was in class five—college preparatory for English and linguistics, Oikawa was in class six—college preparatory for math and science. So how he used, or wasted, his brain cells to come up with obscure references to pop culture, was beyond her. 

“I hate you.” 

“That sucks, cause Iwa and I are a package deal.”

* * *

Satomi Murakami returned to the gym after Oikawa was transported to a nearby hospital via ambulance. Aoba Johsai was in their third set with Shiratorizawa, losing the second set miserably twenty-five to seventeen according to her teammates. From what Hina had observed, it took the entire second set for Oikawa’s alternate to get into the groove and by now, they were neck and neck with Shiratorizawa. The atmosphere in the gym had dropped a solid two degrees with Iwaizumi at the helm, the once jovial twinge the air being cast away. Currently, the score was at twenty-three to twenty-two, with Shiratorizawa in the lead and Ushiwaka serving. Satomi subconsciously held her breath in her seat, gripping the bar in the middle of her turquoise poms so hard her clipped nails dug into the skin of her palms. With speed, precision, and sheer force, it was a wonder to see an object move with such velocity and even more wonder to see Kyoutani magically receive it. 

Even from the vast distance from the court to the bleachers, it was evident that Mad Dog was thirsting for blood at this point. The brunette boy’s bump allowed Yahaba, Oikawa’s temporary replacement, to set up the now exhausted Iwaizumi. Regardless of the fire he felt in his calves or the sweat drenching his uniform and dripping past his lashes into his eyes, Hajime could not call it quits until this last set was theirs; even if his legs did not want to move any further. 

“Fire up, let’s go! Seijoh, take control!” Satomi felt a fire in her belly that only came around during competition time; a fire melded and born from the desire of victory and the pride of her team, her school, and her friends. When not calling out every possible cheer her team had in their repertoire, she was relentlessly screaming for the boys, hoping that her words could reach Iwaizumi’s ears. Even if they could not, she knew deep down someone down there could hear her and that was all the validation she needed in this moment. 

After a tedious back and forth play, thanks to Seijoh’s gracious libero who hands down was going to need an ice bath after today, Yahaba was able to set Hanamaki up for a last minute straight, putting both schools in a deuce. “Let’s go guys, c’mon, we’ve got this!” Iwaizumi’s voice boomed from the court, his team responding by putting their game faces on. The charisma and weight that his words had made Satomi passively wonder why Oikawa was the captain rather than Hajime himself. 

Matsukawa was up to serve, but the boy was beyond tired. His ounce bouncy waves were matted from sweat, whatever droplets not sticking to his hairs or brows were rolling down dewy skin. The whistle blew, giving him eight seconds to wipe his brow in his shoulder, dribble the ball once before taking to steps to hit it forward. “Shit.” Satomi muttered to herself as the ball hit the very tip of the net, teetering and wobbling before landing on Seijoh’s side of the court. Defeat began to crescendo in each of the boys in the current line up, but Iwaizumi would not let the fuel burning in his gut die right now. He needed to win this for his team, for himself and, most importantly, for Oikawa. 

The tense air reflected the critical moment on the court. With Shiratorizawa being at match point and serving, the Aoba Johsai Volleyball team scraped at the bottom of their reserved energy tanks, ready to receive everything coming their way. Shiratorizawa knew they needed to play smart. Regardless of them being at match point, they were aware of Aoba Johsai nipping at their heels for the final set and the chance to advance in the preliminaries. Unfortunately, their initial serve had been received and their attempted spike had been dug up, thanks to Watari. Once again, the back and forth actions of both teams caused an intensity in the air so thick everyone in the stadium could practically swallow it. The ball was in Seijoh’s weak, tired hands. Yahaba set the ball for first tempo to sync with Kyoutani’s speed and, in typical Mad Dog fashion, the brunette boy barreled through the court and spiked with as much might as he possibly could. Iwaizumi and the rest of the boys began to cheer as the ball contacted the laminated tile—celebration that was all too premature as the referees signaled the hit had been out. Shiratorizawa has won again, officially ending the match by default. From across the court, the masses adorning purple and white cheered raucously while the Seijoh team and fans collapsed in disappointment. A moment of silence passed between fans and team alike in mourning until the volleyball team began to collect themselves and the fans beginning to make their exit. The cheer squad remained in the bleachers, their crestfallen faces looking to Satomi for instructions. “Since we suddenly have a free weekend, I’ll see you ladies back at the third gym by two for practice.” Her tone was soft as opposed to the typical strictness she would hold—everyone’s heart was just a little broken in the moment, there was no need for unnecessary roughness. 

The Aoba Johsai cheer team packed up their poms and shoes before heading home for a break, nap, catch up on homework, or whatever else they needed before meeting back at practice. As Satomi was leaving Sendai City Gymnasium, she caught the volleyball bus loading up, Iwaizumi ending the line filing in. The brunette man locked eyes with his fellow classmate, fighting temptation to look away in shame. Instead, Satomi walked towards him with open arms, knowing full well the weight of defeat from Shiratorizawa. Hesitantly, he handed his duffel bag to Matsukawa in front of him to place it on the bus, fully ignoring his and Hanamaki’s chants to “get his woman”. Iwaizumi took a few steps towards her, meeting Satomi a little less than halfway before wrapping his chiseled arms around her shoulders. As much as she wanted to say something to him, there were no words that could console his broken heart in this moment. Instead, she opted to just squeeze around his lower torso as much as she could, nestling herself into his chest while his chin rested on the crown of her head beside her ponytail. Had it not been for the circumstances, Iwaizumi probably would have been flushed from the intimate physical contact. But right now, he was sad and hurting and overrun with guilt and Satomi’s comfort only did so much. “Thank you for being there.” The vice-captain murmurs just loud enough for her to hear from above before pulling away to load onto the bus, leaving the brunette cheerleader to make her way home by her lonesome. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how challenging it is for me to write volleyball scenes? It's rough. So am sorry if it's uh...boring? lackluster? all of the above? Also I couldn't help but throw the P!atd reference. I was messing around on Social Dummy and making an account for Satomi and KamiSato had me howling.


End file.
